


The Undefeated and The Broken

by DestructivelyConstructive



Series: Of Sad And Broken Things [1]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: E V E R, F/F, F/M, Hero's Fall trope, Kinda, Kinda?, More tags to be added, along with the extensive culture i made, and my own race of trolls, i like torturing my OCs, i think what you would call Vossnell's character arch, i was left alone for too long, many OCs - Freeform, massive guilt complex, on tagging that is, tell me if you like it, the angst train doesn't stop, the various others are mostly OCs, this is mainly to outlet my insane worldbuilding, will take suggestions - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-04-26 18:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14408148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestructivelyConstructive/pseuds/DestructivelyConstructive
Summary: Vossnell the Undefeated. Vossnell the Traitor. Vossnell the Vicious.She has many names. She has grown into them, and shed them like a snake does its skin. Of course there is only one name she uses for herself.Vossnell the Broken.(I've spent too much time alone with my OC and this is the result. Enjoy.)





	1. Every Tale Begins Somewhere

When she opened her eyes, she was greeted with a smiling face and gentle eyes. She couldn't understand the sounds coming from the being's mouth, but she felt a bond with them almost immediately.

The being was her father and the noise coming from his mouth was her child name, she learned later, when she was old enough to understand what was going on around her. When her father braided her birth beads in her hair.

They were beautiful, with stripes of black, crimson, and gold, and glittering in the sun. It was her family colors she was told. What differentiated her from the five other whelps and helped her father find her. Not that she was hard to spot, her colors were different from the deep greens and dark browns of other Selzari Penthesileans. With a soot colored mane, and glassy ash skin, and fiery glowing eyes.

She had all the proper proportions of a Penthesilean youngling, the right number of limbs, the right number of eyes, and the proper behavior, but she was obviously different.

No one said anything directly to her, but she saw the looks the adults cast to her father. The crinkle of their noses, and the narrowing of their eyes.

 

One day, she asked her father about it.

“Oh, don't you worry about it Vos. It's just something I get for associating with your Da.” He would say.

“Why is that Father? What happened?” She would ask. She never knew her Da. The one who carried her in their body.

“Oh well, he did something he wasn't supposed to, and he... he got exiled.” Her father sighed, looking sad, the bright green of his four eyes dimming.

“But that his own fault! Why is everyone mean towards you?”

“It's just the way it is, Vos.”

“Well it's stupid! When I get bigger and I can fight, I'm gonna change that!”

“It's nice to aim high, Vos. Just be careful in case you crash and burn.”

They would have this exchange a lot.

 

She watched the adults brawl, like whelps tended to. But she carefully took mental notes, noticed when a fierce blow didn't strike true, saw when they stepped a bit too far and lost the match. Not that many matches ended in a loss. Both combatants fought until they were both unable to continue, usually. Other younglings would get bored and go play with the few others in their age group, but Vos would sit for the entirety of the tussle.

A few of the adults regarded her as a bit unnerving for that fact, but most praised her for her power of focus, and praised her father for the promising warrior she was liable to become. At least they were being nice to her papa.

If they found out why she observed them for so long, they would demanded she be kept indoors, so she doesn't do something to injure herself.

 _Whelps were rare enough as it was. They didn't need whelps getting false confidence and getting themselves killed._ That's what they would say.

So she kept her practices secret and trained against spinning dummies, improved her reflexes and worked to increase her strength.

One day, she was doing her usual whelp things when she saw two females circling each other. She and her companions slowed, curious over this strange occurrence. It wasn't strange for females to tussle, but the air felt different. There was a male off to the side, looking almost anxious as he watched the females, clutching a drum.

Vos tilted her head, just before the two females jumped at each other. But this fight wasn't good-natured, as most other tussles were. This one was flat out competitive, and utterly vicious. But she was utterly entranced. This was different from the moves she watched during a brawl. These were much more... serious perhaps. She did not know the word, but it was enthralling to watch, and already, she was comparing her knowledge to what she was witnessing before her.

And already, she was picking apart the moves and analyzing them. She would be implementing them into her training regime soon enough.

So enthralled by the indescribable power in this fight she was, she failed to notice them wrestle their way over to where she sit. Until they were about to fall on top of her and drag her into their battle of flying claws and gnashing fangs.

She let out a scream of fright when she realized the danger and the females were sent flying by a powerful tail. She was picked up and cradled by warm arms and she heard her father snarl at the two competing females. Turning her head, she saw the two competitors were with wide eyes and horrified expressions. They jumped to their feet and immediately began apologizing profusely, stating that they meant no harm to her.

“I know you didn't. You were fighting over a potential mate, I understand that. But you are Selzari. To display such ignorance in your surroundings is shameful.” Her father scolded, before turning away and leaving them to their devices.

Eventually, that incident was left behind them and Vos went on to learn the way of her people.

Their belief was what interested her most. The Fathomless were interesting. Nine mysterious figures that represented the primary values of the Penthesilean people.

The most important one was Battle and Victory. They always stood center stage, with four other Fathomless on either side. Ritum was it's name.

Next was Family. It stood on the right side of Ritum and was called Trionelakin.

Then it fell to Home. It's name was Deabo and it stood to Ritum's left.

Honor. It took Trionelakin's right and was known as Tepure.

Glory was to Deabo's left, and had the name Respigte.

The Fathomless of Protection was called Sedefen, and the Fathomless of Pride was Gerenev. Sedefen sat between Tepure and Gerenev.

Craft was Riftshcam, and it was to Respigte's left.

Finally, Love was called Ceomrance, and took Risftshcam's left.

It was a bit of a chore to remember their names and the order they were in. Or it was until her father took her to the one temple they had dedicated to the Fathomless. Shrines were everywhere, but the Temple helped her learn.

And the first thing she noticed was the mural, and the being in the center of it. For a moment Vos thought she was looking at a blurry mirror. Then she realized she was staring at Ritum's depiction.

It had the same color of skin, with molten eyes and a dark halo around it. Would a seer see this as important?

She turned to call her father to tell him her discovery, but found him looking between her and Ritum's minimalist mural. Then he smiled in a strange manner, saying 'Let's go home now.'

That revelation and question stuck with her well into adulthood, but it drifted to the back of her mind by the time of her coming of age ceremony.

The celebration lasted a week, and it was the rowdiest thing she had ever witnessed. And she got to partake in it! She got to tussle with the other whelps in her age group and get a taste of the fights she would be able to participate in when she got her adult name!

She was looking forward to her Rite of Passage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, with the Fathomless this is the order they go in: Gerenev, Sefeden, Tepure, Trionelakin, Ritum, Deabo, Respigte, Riftshcam, Ceomrance. Hope that clears up my mess towards the end!  
> Anyway, I would appreciate feed back, and I will post the next chapter next Monday! I hope to keep a somewhat coherent release schedule with this one!


	2. The Rite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rite begins and a sad tale is set into motion.

Vos shifted as she waited for the formal verses of her Rite of Passage to begin. She wanted to prove herself already, and start changing the unspoken things of her civilization.

Her father's sadness and ridicule burned at the forefront of her mind. The sadness in his eyes when he spoke of Da, and the wince when the others whispered about him. How he was a doomed chief for the calamity that had befell his home life, and how his mate had turned against their society. That was her Da's shame, not her father's. She would show them that.

She clenched her hands into fists, before loosening them as her father appeared. They shared a small smile before his face grew solemn. The murmurs that came with every Penthesilean's Rite of Passage died down, but the silence was no less anxious than the noise before. In fact, it was even more charged, the anticipation crawling along her skin and filling her chest with a fuzzy feeling.

Her father raised his hands and even the anticipation fell silent, the area unnaturally still, as if the very world was holding its breath to listen to his words.

“Today, we are gathered here to see one of our precious youth gain their adulthood, or die trying.” Her father started. “Will she disappear into the trees and emerge victorious? Or will she fall at the claws of the creatures lurking in the jungle shade? Only time will tell.”

The air was solemn at the grim reality that one of rare whelps of the Penthesilean breed could die before they even proved themselves and earned their adult name. But under it, Vos smirked, confident in her abilities to succeed.

“Vos.” She perked at the sound of her name. “During your Rite, you will be held responsible for every single action, and you will have to make it back by your own instincts and power. Do you understand?”

“Yes Chief.”

“However,” Her father added. “This does not mean you'll be going into this alone.”

He produced a necklace from some hidden pocket and held it between them, letting her take a moment to admire the beautiful crystal strung on the simple leather cord. He raised it a bit higher with an expecting look, and she bowed her head so he could loop it over her head without it getting caught on her antlers. Once it was in place around her neck and proudly gleaming on her chest, her father stepped back and pulled out her necklace's twin.

“These crystals will inform me should you perish in the jungle, so I would know to send out someone to retrieve your body.”

Vos nodded quickly at the explanation, fighting to keep her tail from twitching. She wanted to go _go_ _ **goGO.**_

“Now that the formalities and warnings have been settled,” Her father said, moving to the side. “You may begin your Rite.” He gestured grandly to the trees and bushes, and she was off like a shot, a grin plastered on her face.

 

She had been sure to twist and turn her path as much as possible, and eventually the shade of the canopy blocked out the light so she had no indicator on which way to go. So she sat on a log and thought about what she should bring back to confirm that she had actually preformed Rite of Passage. A distant sound of water crashing against a cliff side drew her attention and planted a tentative idea in her head, slowly coming into bloom.

Did she really want to go face a siren for one of their claws? Or even, Fathomless willing, one of their sacred jewels?

She stared out in the direction of the cliffs with hope, before turning and shaking her head. Even the most accomplished Penthesileans were wary of the sirens. What hope would she have? Better to go for something that was still grand, but more modest than a siren's trophy.

Her ears perked and swiveled to a more alert position as she heard the canopy snapping and moving in unusual ways. Then her head snapped up when an earth-shattering roar filled the air and sent so many birds flying, a swirl of vibrant colors chased by gold.

Vos jumped to her feet and grinned widely as she watched the amphithere weave through the air, it's feathered wings gleaming gold in the low light.

 _That_ would be a worthy trophy.

It moved to follow it's prey and she chased after it. From here, she couldn't tell if it was fully grown, the marbled green of its belly that served as camouflage telling her nothing. She sincerely hoped that it was an adult, or she would be in way over her head with it's parents.

Noting it's continued ignorance of her, she frowned, something in her scorned at the thought of being brushed off.

She glanced around her as she dropped lowered her body to the ground, leaving gouges in the mulch from her four sets of claws. Seeing a particularly large tree coming up, she smirked, leaping into the air and pushing off the trunk to slam into the draconic creature's side. They crashed through young trees and upturned the terrain in a glorious display of power.

Once they stopped tumbling, Vos jumped away from her quarry, quickly glancing for the tell of age. The marbled gold veins glimmered in the light, serving as a warning instead of aerial camouflage, and she grinned.

 _'Good, I won't invoke the ire of its dame and sire.'_ She thought.

As it righted itself, using its wings as forelegs, it hissed at her, its scales rising up and making it appear bigger than it was. Vos returned its warning with a challenge, snarling lowly as she crouched, pacing back and forth to coax the amphithere into action.

And coax it into action she did. With a bloodcurdling screech it rushed forward, fanged maw open wide to rip off a limb, it's scales making a strange, dry sound.

She leaped to the side and lashed out with her tail, breaking a beautiful wing, before the creature retaliated and slammed into her gut and sent her flying through young trees. Some part of her distantly mourned the destruction, but she couldn't pay it any attention as she dodged away from a snapping jaw.

She took off running and heard that same sound as before, following her along with bellows and shrieks of rage.

She eyed the vine ahead of her, and glanced about. She didn't have time to plan, and with that, she leaped for the slender plant and let her paws leave the ground. Fate cooperated with her and swung her around the tree to slam into the delicate place between it's wings.

An earth-shattering wail of pain torn from a fanged maw, and they were sent rolling. Flying and tumbling. Right towards the sirens' territory.

Vos' eyes widened at the detail and flinched as the bright light of the sun greeted her, kissed her stone skin and blinded her shade bound eyes. She and her quarry went tumbling down the sheer cliff, and they landed harshly. She felt, more than heard, it's neck break.

As she creaked open four molten eyes to check the damage, she heard it.

Heard _them_.

The ruffle of feathers. A hiss of silken scales leaving the water. The quiet crooning of the sirens' whispers.

She glanced up and felt a pang of terror at the sight of them. All the stories and legends said that the sirens were beautiful. And they were indeed beautiful, but not in a way anyone would have thought.

The one slithering out of the water was dark skinned, dark as the shadows of the unknown, with starlight freckles and moonbeam hair. Her fins were silver prongs swathed with dark gossamer, and her scales put the most extensive treasuries to shame, gleaming with all the splendor of the night sky.

But her face is what stunned others into fear and awe.

With large, overly large, round eyes made of moonstone that held all the secrets of the deep. Filled with all the drowned souls to ever fall victim to the ocean, reaching out for the light coming into her eyes. Her nose was made of simple slits in the middle of her face, and below it her thin lips formed a smile, showcasing hundreds of long, spindly teeth.

She rose to stand on her arms, and Vos saw the gleaming gem placed just under the dip of her clavicle. It was the only thing that didn't fit with the seabound siren. Gleaming with fire, and outlined in ice.

To the young Penthesilean's left, a feathered one strode forward from her nest among the stones. Her clawed feet, like an osprey's talons, left gauges in the sand. Her face was fierce and sharp eyed, angular and beautifully lethal. Cat-chaped eyes zeroed in on her with all the focus of a hawk, wreathed with feather lashes, overly long and brightly colored.

Her head tilted, the long feathers, like a peacock's tail, sprouting from her head in a mimicry of hair shifting with the movement. She probably would have wrinkled her nose if it wasn't more of beak than a nose.

A twin of the sea siren's gem sat in the same place.

Movement to her right caused her to look that way, tense even as her tail swayed and wrapped around her leg.

What beheld her was a young humanoid woman. She almost would had said human if it wasn't for the fact that her limbs faded from flesh to opaque then clear water. If it weren't for the dark, aloof eyes, gleaming with stars and that night's moon phase in place of a pupil. If it weren't for the lipless slash of of her mouth that reveal teeth like broken glass.

Her hair was like the ocean. No, her hair was a _fragment_ of the ocean. Bleeding from deep, unfathomable blues, to angry, frothing white, cresting like violent waves.

And the triplet jewel to the other two sat at her clavicle, with the illusion of a necklace granted by a band of black skin around her neck.

So this was how her life panned out? Dying at the hands of sirens before she even finished her Rite? At least it was a spectacular way to go out, she mused.

Then the feathered siren spoke.

“Ritum? What are you doing here?” She crooned, her voice sweet and airy.

A voice followed the question, rumbling and deep as the sea. “Indeed. You left for what you called 'The Undying Land' so many centuries ago.” That had come from the seabound siren.

“So tell us Ritum. What are you doing back?” The watery siren chimed, her voice rich and rounded.

“I- I'm not...” Vos began, “My name is Vos...”

The sirens shared looks and spoke in their crooning and lilting language. It made her head hurt to listen.

Eventually they came to a conclusion and Vos was left clutching her head in pain.

“Something terrible must be coming to warrant them Choosing a champion.” The seabound siren suddenly said in a tongue that she actually knew.

“What if it's just a fluke?” The water formed siren suddenly quipped. “How do we know if Ritum has really Chosen someone?”

The two other sirens fell silent as they contemplated this. Before the feathered one, the ringleader it seems, spoke.

“Then she will duel with us. One-on-one. If she wins, Ritum has chosen. If not, we will kill her.”

“That's a bit of a black and white deal, sister. What would we give her if she succeeds?” The watery siren protested.

The voice of the sea spoke up. “Child, you are preforming your Rite, correct?”

“Y-Yes ma'am.”

“So polite~” The feathered siren crooned, reaching out with her too long arm and brushing a clawed finger against her lower set of horns.

“Then we will turn Respigte's attention toward you when you arrive home with an amphithere hide and three siren jewels.”

Vos' jaw dropped at the proclamation. And stared at the three in shock.

“Do we have a deal?” The feathered one prompted.

She turned to the dangerous being and down at the outstretched hand. Too long fingers tipped with claws flexed slightly, then she glanced back up toward the siren's angular face.

“That's a fair bargain.” She said, knowing the weight behind the word she used, and shared a grin with the three creatures of legend over it as she took the feathered one's hand.

She shook on it with each of the three sirens. Then she backed away, feeling a tingle go down her back as the ancient magic surrounding the nature of their bargain took hold. She knew she would have new markings there, and that the magic would stop her from running away if she lost.

 _'Not likely.'_ she thought to herself.

The water formed siren and the seabound both left the shore and moved towards the rocks just a few skips away from shore.

The feathered one remained and Vos crawled over the amphithere's corpse to met her for battle.

 

Once her feet were on the sand, she was snatched up with no remorse. She was thrown around like a rag doll and it was all she could do to block the Siren's attacks. The Siren of the Skies threw her into the cliff face and her very being rattled. Her vision was in threes, but she was able to see her opponent in front of her a few yards away. Vos quickly realized the position she was in, and what the Siren was planning to do, and leaped away.

She heard the Siren seethe with frustration, and went about dodging telegraphed attacks. Now that she wasn't being tossed around like a whelp's favorite toy, she could see that the feathered being didn't quite see her as a threat. Didn't even really consider the notion that she might be dangerous.

Again, her heart twisted in an angry, uncomfortable way. Her lips pulled back from her fangs, and she growled at the Siren.

She would not be dismissed. The Siren's arrogance would be her undoing.

So when the Siren surged forward again, she rushed to meet her. She grabbed her talons before she could swipe at her, and pulled the creature of legend down to her level while simultaneously surging forward to headbutt her.

The feathered being stumbled away from her, glimmering liquid oozing from the nasty scrape she was now sporting on her forehead. Her gold eyes flared with outrage, and she rushed forward again. Vos didn't have time to block or dodge the being's claws, and so she at least kept her dignity intact by not yelping in fright when her feet left the ground.

The creature of legend tossed her above her head and was grinning sharply, all of her motions lazy and unworried, and Vos' anger stoked higher. But she couldn't do much in the air, which left her nearly completely at the Siren's mercy.

The next thing that registered in her mind was that she was spinning very fast, and then she was falling very fast. She hit the sand of the beach with so much force that she created an impact crater.

She slowly blinked her eyes in quick succession, and dully noted that the Siren was hovering. She watched her mouth move, but heard it through cotton. Abruptly, sound came crashing back to her, hearing the waves cresting, and the tail end of what her opponent was saying.

“... But I guess that you're just an unfortunate mutant afterall.”

Vos saw red.

She vaguely acknowledged that she had surged to her feet, and she got the notion that she had leaped at the creature of legend. The pain of claws raking down her tail cut through her angry haze, but did nothing to dissipate it. She saw her tail was wrapped tightly around the siren's thin neck, and she watched it tighten until she heard the Siren of the Skies choke.

“I yield...!” She desperately rasped.

She stopped what she was doing and stared down at the siren. Her gold eyes looked panicked and her sharp teeth were gritted. Her chest was heaving with the effort of drawing air into her lungs. But what caught her attention most was the way her feathers fluffed. Like she was scared of who was in front of her.

She grinned slowly. She had won.

The Siren wouldn't underestimate her any longer.

With monumental effort, she slowly unwound her tail from that fragile neck, and stepped back. She slowly breathed and watched the red film fade away from her vision. The Siren was twisted to the side, coughing and rasping for air, that glimmering liquid from before spilling from her lips as she hacked.

“I surely paid the price for my arrogance, didn't I?”

“Yes, you did.” Vos agreed.

The Siren looked back to her, and she watched her dark face slacken and pale.

“Are you alright? You look shaken.”

The Siren coughed again, as she tried to reply. “Just reeling over the fight! I'll be joining my sister now!”

Then she took off and flew to the outcropping, where the Siren of the Deep still dwelled.

That would mean...

The surf surged forward. Something leaped out at her and so her second battle had begun.

 

The Siren looked wild, half-mad, and horrifying. Where her hair had been lovely and gave off the illusion of voluminous waves, it was now slicked and the color of the ocean at night. Moon pale skin was now a sickly teal, and half moon pupils were now pale slits.

So surprised was she by the sudden appearance, she almost didn't notice that the siren's jaws were nearly closed around her left arm. But thankfully, she did and jerked back, still raking her arm through glistening black teeth like broken glass. The cuts burned horribly, but at least she was able to keep her limb.

Vos' thought process was broken by a cold hand slamming into her face. She tumbled head over tail until her back slammed into the amphithere's corpse. She just barely had enough time to roll out of the way, before the Siren slammed her icy fist where her head had just been. She stumbled to her feet and threw up her arms to defend against the Siren's assault.

She grit her teeth against the force of them. The Siren obviously had no love for her right now. She was going all out and it was all she could do to block her attacks. At least she wasn't underestimating her as an opponent.

But she still fell into a pattern of blocking and dodging, even as she watched all the openings to counter attack pass. She wouldn't have been able to do so without getting hurt. Abruptly, her mind skipped a beat, and she scowled at herself.

Pain was _nothing_ if it assured her victory.

Ritum would look down upon her if she left a fear of pain stop her from winning a victory just within reach.

So she stopped blocking and dodging, and started counter-attacking and swallowing her pain. And soon, she was gaining ground, forcing the Siren to block her attacks or dance out of her reach.

Now, they were locked in traded blows and returned pain. Vos had three new scars on her right forearm, and the Siren was bruised, bleeding, and slowly returning to her calm state. Finally, as her movements became sluggish, Vos grabbed her shoulders and knocked her head against hers. As the siren swayed, she wrestled her to the ground.

The Siren of the Sea snarled at her, uselessly snapping her teeth at her, and Vos snarled back at her, letting it rumble through her chest as a warning.

Then the teal faded to pale skin, and her pupils were once again half moons.

“Do you yield?” She growled.

“I... Yield.” The Sea Siren said slowly, staring and looking frightened.

The tone niggled at something in the back of Vos' mind, but she released the Siren and stood up, offering her hand to the creature of legend.

She hesitated, but reached out a clear hand and took hold, and only swayed slightly when she was pulled up.

She turned away and began to the waves, only to stop mid-stride and turning back to the young Penthesilean.

“Be warned young one, yours is a tale of woe.” She sighed sadly.

Then she turned and disappeared into the water, leaving Vos to puzzle over her words, leaving herself wide open for her final opponent.

 

She suddenly registered the dark mass looming in front of her and jumped back, only for a clammy hand to wrap around her leg and drag her into the surf.

She barely had enough time to suck in a breath to hold, and her eyes stung as she stared at the Siren of the Deep. She grinned at her, and she withheld a cry as her massive tail slammed into her side.

Once she stopped spinning she clumsily tread water, and frantically looked around her for her opponent. She found her when a pain in her side had her snapping around to see her exquisite tail fading into the inky dark. She was struck again from below, a claw raking up her flank, and she spun out again.

The Siren continued on like this for she didn't know how long (it couldn't have been that long, surely), hitting and running, hitting and running. And she could do precious little but weather the abuse until she was able to determine a pattern. But it was not a pattern she ended up using to fight. Not entirely anyway.

Her lungs were starting to burn, and she knew she had to end it quickly. She heard the Siren's tail disturb the water, and prepared herself for another assault. She grit her teeth as she felt her fist slam into her back, and she deftly wrapped her tail around the creature's arm. She felt the Siren stop and she lashed out with her claws, toward the Siren's face. She could see that the Siren's head snapped back, and she grabbed her shoulders, moving herself so she could use the being as a springboard. She did so harshly, making sure her claws left deep cuts as she propelled herself to the surface.

She breached the surface with a gasp and attempted to make precious little progress to the shore. Something screamed at her to veer left, and she did just that, narrowly avoiding the claws of the Siren, and blindly leaping as she felt something under her paws.

She clumsily landed in shallow enough water to stagger toward shore, and nearly collapsed with relief as she felt the sand under her feet.

She heard a whisper of scales, and turned around, both her feet leaving the ground while her tail supported her, just as the Siren let loose an angry screech. She lashed out with both her feet just as the Siren began slithering toward her. The Siren's head violently recoiled from the blow, and she was on her feet before she could realize it. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around the Siren's torso, and managed to _throw_ her further onto shore.

The siren was reeling, hissing and growling as she tried to make it back to the water, and Vos pounced, tackling her back near the amphithere. She pinned the Siren's arms, and grunted as she felt her heavy tail hit in the back, her own tail lashing erratically as she focused on keeping the Siren down. Finally, after the vast majority of her remaining strength had nearly been depleted, the Siren admitted defeat.

At those two words, Vos heaved a heavy sigh of relief and all but rolled off the creature of legend.

“You have done well, child.”

When she heard the light airy tone of the feathered Siren, she reluctantly got to her feet and inclined her head to her.

“Thank you.” She replied shortly, all but swaying on her feet.

She heard the deep laugh of the Voice of the Sea. What she was laughing at, she knew not, nor could she bring herself to care.

“I believe you have earned your rest, Vos. We will skin the amphithere for you.” She said.

“Oh, by the Fathomless, _thank you_.” Vos said, feeling gratitude well in her chest.

The water bound siren laughed and rested a clear hand on her shoulder. “Rest. We will wake you when we are done.”

Vos smiled at her and followed the Siren of the Skies when she took her arm. She directed her to her nest, fussed over her slightly, and then went about the task before her.

She fell asleep as soon as she laid her head down.

 

When she was awoken, she was still exhausted, and ached from the fights, but thanked the Sirens nonetheless for skinning her initial prize, and watched in fascination as they carefully pulled their jewels from their bodies. The feathered one produced a small pouch for their jewels, and the voice of the sea wrapped the hide in such a way that she could move with it easily. They had even included the creature's beautiful wings, how kind of them!

Once again she thanked them all, and began the arduous task of scaling the cliff side. It took an hour, she estimated, and she desperately wanted to sleep, but she was eager to get back home and show off her prizes. So she orientated herself, and set out, feeling giddiness well up inside her.

She didn't know how long it took her to reach one of the gates of her home, but she didn't really care. She saw the guard there startle as they saw her.

“Vos! You're already back!? Your Rite only started yesterday!” The smaller guard called out, her amber eyes wide.

“You didn't cheat, did you?” The male jokingly accused.

Vos put a hand on her chest and pretended to act offended. “Zenmendlar! How could you insinuate that I would do something so heinous as cheat my way through my Rite! Inconceivable!”

He laughed at her dramatics, and leaned on his war hammer. “So how _did_ you finish so quickly?”

“Ah, ah, ah!” She wagged her finger at him. “You'll find out after I get my adult name!”

He groaned slightly, tossing his head back, but smiling. “It'd better be good!”

“Oh, it is!” She assured as she passed him, reaching out a hand and patting his arm.

She heard him grumble, but smiled as she walked into the village, making a straight line toward the center. Her father was speaking the with guild masters about something or another, but the crystal hanging around his neck pulsed just as he set eyes on her. She watched them widened in surprise, and she raised a hand in greeting.

“Vos!” He called out, brushing past the guild masters. “Back so soon?”

“And not empty-handed!”

He laughed as he put a hand behind his head. “I can see that!”

They stopped in front of each other, and her father lowered himself to her level. They pressed their foreheads together and shared a sigh of relief, staying like that for a few moments. Then her father drew his head away and smiled at her. “Alright, let's see what you brought back.”

She smiled at him in return and shrugged off the amphithere hide, and unfolded it, watching it take up damn near the entire village center with it's length.

Her father looked it over approvingly, kneeling down and inspecting it, while many of their neighbors came to gawk at the fully intact hide, many leather workers looking down right envious. Once her father finished his inspection of the skin, and admiring the excellent skill required to properly skin one of the draconic beasts, he clapped her on the shoulder in approval.

“Well done, Vos! I think - “

“That's not all of it.” She interrupted.

“Oh? What else have you brought back with you?” He asked with a tilted head.

She only smiled at him and took his hand so that it was palm up. Than she deposited the three jewels into it. And her father only stared in disbelief, before his lower set of eyes slid to her face, followed by the upper.

“Did you truly face the Sirens?” He asked softly.

She lifted her left arm and pointed at the countless, uneven scars. “One of them tried to bite off my arm.”

He stared at her with comically wide eyes before, he began laughing uproariously and picking her up, hoisting her onto his shoulder.

She shared a wide smile with him as he continued laughing. Finally he managed to speak through his mirth.

“Go on and tell them what you've done, Vos!”

Her smile turned into a grin as she took one of the jewels from him. She raised it above her head so that it caught the sunlight.

“I faced the Sirens and won!” She announced, grinning widely as she held the proof over her head.

The village went wild, cheering over the massive achievement, and many came rushing up to congratulate her and her father.

And soon enough, she was swept away to get her adult tattoos, and was presented before the gathered village as she was given her adult name.

Vossnell.

It was fierce, and rolled of the tongue so nicely. She loved it.

Her father commissioned the jeweler's guild to make a set from the Siren jewels, and she commissioned the Leatherworker's guild for a few outfits made from the hide.

And she was stuck telling the story of her Rite for most of the day, and well into the night, answering questions about the Sirens. She didn't mind though. She had certainly made an impression with the community at least!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly forgot how long this chapter was! but I'm honestly rather proud of it, I like some of the descriptions I made here.  
> but anyway! I'll hopefully have the next one up according to my schedule.


	3. Ritum and Respigte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cusp of adolescence and adulthood is busy time for a Penthesilean of any tribe. So when Vossnell has a day to herself, she makes the most of it.

After her Rite, she spent the next two decades or so serving as an apprentice under the masters of the leather and metalworking guilds. She took pride in her work, and so did many of her buyers. When she wasn't working toward her mastery beads, she was learning governance from her father. Then there were days were she was free to do as she would. When she wasn't obligated to run between her two masters, or sit with her father as he went though his work and showed her the ropes.

And she knew just what she was going to do.

A few years earlier, a competition had been held. Her father didn't let her come with him, but many of the older Penthesileans in the village went, and came back a year or two later. Some were slightly disappointed about something, but it was overshadowed by the pride that the Champion hailed from their tribe. The night they returned, there was a celebration, for one of their own was the best fighter among the five tribes!

Vossnell had decided not to be rude and make him lose his new title within the year. But now that she was stepping out of the realm of adolescence, she was ready to challenge him.

She left her home in high spirits, her Siren jewels proudly cast in pale gold. She greeted many of her neighbors and peers in kind, swatting at Zenmendlar as he decided to greet her by ruffling her mane. She snarled at him and he laughed merrily, withdrawing his hand before she could bite him. She glared as he left to go patrol their borders, before huffing and continuing on her way.

She didn't really know Zindrozaan's schedule, her own was so busy afterall, but their tribe was small, only about 350 individuals. So it shouldn't be so difficult to find him, she mused. And it really wasn't. She found him easily enough after asking a few questions, and found him dealing with a challenger.

Just as he threw the female off him and brought her defeat upon her, Vossnell spoke. “Care to take on another challenger?”

Zindrozaan's eyes flickered to her and then to her beads. “You're aiming high for your first formal challenge. This _is_ to be a formal challenge, yes?”

“I aimed high during my Rite. And yes, it will be.” She replied.  
He turned to her and nodded as onlookers began to gather. “Weapons, or will we do this bare handed?”

“We'll use the weapons we were given.” She said as she flexed her claws and lashed her tail.

“Have it your way Vossnell.” He replied, and she recalled that he had won the competition with his bare hands.

 

A loose circle was formed by the onlookers, and they paced around each other. Their hands raised in their respective ready positions, the Champion's in fists with a steady stance, and hers were open and poised for redirection. The tip of her tail flicked in anticipation, and his swayed back and forth.

The first to make a move was most liable to lose, and the air crackled with tension. She noted that she had an advantage in being smaller and faster, but he had an advantage in height, and therefore could make devastating overhead blows. She would have to avoid that.

She watched his eyes narrow and dart along her body. The sharp hazel gaze lingered on her scars and her tail. Hers was longer and much more flexible than his, of course he might be worried about it. She thought to the move she used against the Siren of the Deep and she kept her face neutral. It would be devastating. In a certain area at least.

Eventually, she made a possible mistake and darted at him. She dodge a fist and grabbed it. She spun, and with his own momentum, threw him across the circle. He tumbled, but rose quickly.

There was another little pocket of tension, in which Zindrozaan looked at her more carefully. He began pacing the circle around her, stalking like the striped felines in the jungle. She turned with him, keeping him from getting behind her back. His tail was lashing and hers was twitching at the tip.

Then he pivoted on his feet sharply and lunged at her. She kept any emotion off her face as she leaned back on her tail, kicking out once he came close enough. The crowd gasped. He stumbled and she leapt up. She landed on his back, and realized her mistake as he quickly rolled.

She was unprepared for his bulk and the air rushed out of her lungs. She had barely even managed to get in a wheeze of air when he stood up. She creaked open her eyes. And then she rolled away as she registered his fist coming down.

The ground cracked slightly and the vibrations rolled through the earth and up her legs. Zindrozaan grit his teeth as he pulled his fist up and she saw his knuckles flash with new scars.

She rushed at him and jumped up, grabbing his crest and swinging her feet into his knee. He fell with a resounding thud, and she followed her body's momentum, grabbing his arm and pulling it behind him. When her feet connected something, it was his back and shoulder. He grunted with pain and she pulled on his arm a bit more.

She was about to account for his other arm when she felt his hand wrap around her leg. She barely had time to curse when he pulled it out from under her.

She sucked in a breath as she fell, and hissed when she felt a hand in her mane. And then he slammed her head into the ground so hard she felt her teeth rattle. Her vision went black for a moment as he lifted her up by her mane and slammed his other fist into her stomach.

Then he dropped her and left her to wheeze for breath.

Her ears flicked as she heard him walking away, and she growled. She was down, but not out.

Vossnell worked through her breathlessness and spun on her hands to slam her legs and tail into the back of his legs. Then she used the momentum to twist around and pounce on his front.

She sat astride his abdomen, and her knees pinned his arms to the ground. His four eyes were wide with surprise and she allowed a small smirk before she swung her right first at him.

He maneuvered his head away and she grit her teeth as she felt pain jolt up her arm. She shot her other hand out and grabbed his crest, holding him in place. He growled at her, uselessly, and she struck him across the face. The damage on her knuckles caught on one of his facets, and she hissed again as it peeled away a section of her stone skin.

Something touched her arm and she was pried off the Champion. She tumbled and rose to her feet, just as he charged at her, ramming into her stomach and swiping his head upward. Her sides burned and she tumbled away again, holding her side. One of his scratches traced over where the Siren's claw had raked up her side.

She distantly noted that she had many scars for one so young, but pushed it away as she twirled away from a clawed attack.

She glanced at Zindrozaan and she saw that he had put most of his force into that blow. He was leaning too far forward. She reacted immediately.

Her tail swept his feet back and she kicked his jaw as he fell. He fell with a thud and a groan, and she pounced on his back, grabbing a fistful of his mane and yanking his head back. Her right arm snaked around his neck and she tightened it as she pulled him back.

His back was arching to a painful degree, and he was rasping for air. She growled lowly as he tried to strike her with the hand he wasn't using to try and pry her arm away. Then she felt him tap against her arm and she released him.

 

He immediately lurched forward and gasped for breath as she clambered off him. He turned to her and she offered her hand. He looked between her face and her hand before taking it, letting her pull him up.

He rose to his feet and stretched with a wince, before looking down to her. Then he gave a tired smile and nodded his respect.

“I suppose I should have expected to lose against the one who bested the Sirens.” He hummed.

She only gave him a half smile in return, and he turned, gesturing with his head to follow him. She had to trot to keep up with his longer strides before he slowed with an apologetic smile.

She dismissed with with a wave of her hand and she glanced at Zindrozaan. Or his braids, more specifically.

“This isn't your first loss?” She hummed.

“Hmm? Oh, no. My first loss was when I mouthed off to a Gemloken Guard, and he punched me out cold!” He laughed, shaking his head as he smiled.

She laughed at the absurdity his words painted for her and shook her head to try and get rid of the images. Then she was studying him again. Again, his braids mostly.

The longer braids roughly told her the path of his life. The ends were pretty standard, beginning with his Birth beads, and finishing with his Rite of Passage beads. She noted the Challenge beads, the Victory beads. She swallowed slightly at the First Kill beads. Then there was his First Defeat beads, fashioned from dull pebbles, which was followed by Courtship beads, and then a Mating bead. The Mating and Courtship beads were beautiful, likely fashioned by his partner.

Then, resting between the Mating Beads and the Champion beads, was a absolutely gorgeous bead fashioned from red gold. It was in laid with amber, and had delicate marks showing that it had been hammered, and there were even more delicate braids of metal around the inlays.

She gasped in delight when she realized what it was.

“You have a child?”

He glanced at her and smiled widely, eyes glowing with pride.

“Indeed! Our little Izu is a handful! Sometimes my mate swears that he wishes I had never gotten him with child. He doesn't mean it of course, he just yells it at me when our child is bouncing off the walls and darting around underfoot.” He chuckled.

“They both sound wonderful.” She complimented, smiling softly.

“They are.”

They continued on in silence until they came to the outskirts of the village, near a cliff face. It didn't seem to be very significant until she saw an opening that had been lovingly carved with many runes, one at the top translating to 'Welcome.'

She didn't say anything about the oddity of his home, since almost all the rest of the Selzari lived in huts. He ushered her inside, and she saw the reason for his living arrangements.

A Gemloken Penthesilean was fashioning clothing from a rocky hide and a young whelp was rummaging around his tools, only to be gently pushed away by the Gemloken's hoof. The leatherworker looked up and smiled at the former Champion.

“Back so soon Zindrozaan?” He asked, putting his work down and standing up, picking up the whelp as he did so.

“Yes, unfortunately. Have to give up my Champion beads.” He hummed.

They spoke quietly, and Vossnell inspected the Gemloken. The design of his Courtship and Mating beads matched Zindrozaan's, and his personal braids – the shorter ones – were well decorated. Before she had time to note much more of them other than the plated antlers and the hooves, the small family turned their gaze to her.

Zindrozaan was smiling as he put an arm around the Gemloken and ruffled Izu's mane. His mate was looking at her a bit coldly before he noticed her jewelry. Then he turned his head to Zindrozaan and lightly smacked his chest.

“I told you, you would lose them to her.”

“That you did Dagadem.” He chuckled.

“That's no fair!” Izu suddenly proclaimed. “I was suppose to win them from you! Right papa?”  
Dagadem looked at them a bit sharply, his deep blue eyes flaring slightly, before Vossnell intervened. “You can win them off of me when you get older.”

The child's vivid beryl eyes looked onto her and his eyes widened. Then he was smiling and squirming in his Papa's arms.

“Yeah! I can get to beat Ritum!” He proclaimed, and the three adults stilled slightly.

Then Vossnell only smiled and shook her head. “My name is Vossnell, little one.”

Izu quieted down and looked at her a bit more closely. “Yeah, okay. But you really look like Ritum.”

“I've heard that once or twice.” She hummed, before looking to Zindrozaan.

“Now for the matter of some beads.”

“Of course, come this way.”

She followed him to a craftsman table and they both sat down while Dagadem went back to his leatherworking. Though now Izu had followed them, pointedly staring at all her scars and her engravings.

She produced four gemstones, two red tiger eyes for her First Victory bead, and two small citrines. Zindrozaan looked at the citrines and hummed appreciatively at the red orange color.

“Very fine specimens. Why did you chose them?”

“Because you had been the best before I came along. You deserve quality gemstones for that.” She replied, pulling out small chucks of dark steel as well.

“...ah.” He said, in a soft manner, and when she glanced up at him, she saw he had a slight smile.

She silently returned the smile and went back to her work, taking a smaller set of tools to begin her work.

Silence reigned after that, broken only by the sounds of the mallets hitting the chisels, the grinding stone, and comments from Izu and Dagadem. Eventually the gems were properly cut and cast, and the exchange could take place.

Both Vossnell and Zindrozaan began to undo their achievement braids, and carefully redid them with the new additions. Izu was intently watching them still, and Vossnell felt a bit perturbed by the unblinking stare. But she had to commemorate his focus, for she did much of the same when she was that young.

Once they had finished their braids, she shook her head slightly, the slight difference in weight just enough to feel odd. Zindrozaan chuckled at her and inspected pair of beads she had made for him. And she took a moment to observe the differences as well.

The Champion beads were old, passed down from an age that was long passed, and they showed such. They had all sorts of nicks and scrapes and tarnishing gracing the metal. There were slight chips in the pale gem's faceting, and she could see a few veins of another metal filling in cracks in the beads. And on top of all of it, she swore she could _feel_ the weights of the former champions' achievements.

The Former Champion beads she made for Zindrozann were pristine, as all beads of that type were. The dark steel glinted and flashed as light caught on it's facets, much like the citrines inlaid in it. Though the rune in the gemstones were deep enough to stand out. It contrasted brilliantly with his other beads, and against his mane as well, golden green as it was.

Then she sighed, stretching as she stood up just until she felt a claw poke her tail. She repressed the urge to crack it like a whip and turned to find Izu looking at the scars on her tail.

“How did you get those?” He asked, vibrant eyes still fixated on the pale crystalline scars.

“I was strangling one of the Sirens with my tail and she tried to claw it off.” She answered.

He turned his head up to her and pointed to her left arm. “And those?”

“A different Siren tried to bite it off.”

“And those?” He pointed to her abdomen.

She glanced down and blinked at the tear in her top. “Your father gouged me with his crest during our fight earlier.”

“Oh. How about -?”

She reluctantly cut him off before he could finish. “Speaking of which, I should get home and fix this.”

“Of course, of course! Izu can pester you a different time.” Dagadem said, seeming to have finished with his own work.

“Of course he can! I'll tell him the whole story then!” Vossnell smiled as she began to leave.

Zindrozaan smiled and nodded as he picked up his son. “Of course!”

She nodded and waved to the whelp before she was dragged into a conversation that would delay her way home.

Her first step out blinded her for a moment with the dusky brightness of the setting sun. She raised her hand to her eyes and squinted them at the horizion bleeding from molten hues to a soft purple, and then a deep blue that reminded her of the Siren of the Deep's tail.

Then her pupils slitted against the sun, and she lowered her hands again. Then she turned them to the new additions of her braids.

She inspected the First Challenge bead made by Zindrozaan, and chuckled slightly. It was made from peridot, with rings of silver and gold on the top and bottom. It rather looked like him. Or it certainly reminded her of the Former Champion, as Challenge beads were meant to.

Then she dropped her braid and continued on her way home, tired from the fight, and then the long period of focus and stillness.

She was just happy she accomplished her goal. Now she desperately wanted her nest of fabric and pelts to doze on. Or maybe she would simply fall asleep as soon as she curled up. Either way, she was looking forward to rest.


	4. A/N

I said I was going to delete this, but I got a lot of wonderful comments, and I'm not sure if they'll go away if I delete it. just pass over this!


	5. Tide of Change, Whispers of War

The very next day, she was given a formal challenge, and she beat them quickly and soundly. And after that, the decades were quiet. Well mostly quiet. Aside from her usual holding of her tongue when it came to dirty looks thrown her father's way, there was one memorable event for her in each decade.

In the first, she had earned her mastery beads, five years after she won the Champion beads.

In the second, Zenmendlar embarrassed her by coming up to her with friendship beads, while she had none to give to him. She had yelled at him and dragged him to her home so she could make a proper exchange while her father laughed.

In the third, there was a Bonding ceremony, between Zenmendlar and Ezanii – the amber eyed guard he had shared his posts and patrols with ever since she was a whelp – and she put both her crafts to good use and made them gifts of armor. Some of her best work as well, beautiful and functional. And the revelry was something that wasn't going to be forgotten for a long time. For her at least.

In the fourth, she had found the time to finalize certain things for her personal braid. Mostly by dallying with the other Penthesileans in her age group. Sweet gestures, and special places, and affection let her find out more about herself. Though they never grew into anything serious, they all still had special places in her heart and she would always make an effort to be kind to them.

In the fifth, she finally got to go with her people to the Challenge of Champions. Though, from what she was told by the older Selzari, the happenings were strange. For when they arrived the other tribe leaders requested to see her father, and her, after the opening ceremony. Her father tensed, and they nodded grimly, before the solemn air dissipated, greetings were exchanged, and she could only stand there awkwardly.

She didn't know anyone outside of her tribe, and Zenmendlar had seemed to vanish, along with Ezanii, and Zindrozaan had stayed behind to look after Izu so that Dagadem could come this time, visiting his family. She didn't know where Dagadem went either.

And so, she trailed after her father, who was now speaking to a Xicalgen, or rather the Xicalgen matriarch. At least that's what Vossnell thought she was, with her decorations and effects.

Someone tapped her shoulder, and she jolted, whirling around so fast that she nearly hit them in the face with her braids. They took a step back and she saw that it was another Xicalgen, with a pale gold mane, pale blue skin, and the most vibrant gray eyes.

“You look a little lost. Need some help?” She asked, and Vossnell shook her head.

“This is just my first time here is all, and my friend and his mate have effectively disappeared.” She grumbled in reply, her ears lowering.

“Well then Champion, why don't I help you out? My name is Casdamona.” The Xicalgen said, holding out her hand.

Vossnell stared at her cautiously putting her hand in hers. Then she was yanked forward and tucked under Casdamona's arm as she began walking somewhere. She made to look over her shoulder at her father, though it was blocked by the silver wing protruding from Casdamona's back.

Or rather the dragonling's back, she realized as its head and made to snap at her. Only to be intercepted by Casdamona's hand.

“Sorry! She's the meanest of the bunch this decade.”

Vossnell blinked and leaned away from the metallic reptile. “Are all of them like that?”

“No. Just mine. The meanest ones usually choose me as their caretaker. The golden feathery ones – like my Ma's – are a fair deal nicer.” The Xicalgen explained, rubbing the dragonling's head.

“Ah...”

From there, the older Penthesilean lead her around and explained the details of the Challenge of Champions. She was tentatively having a good time, laughing at the reactions when her beads were noticed. Though she was torn between flustered pleasure and mild indignation when someone commented on how young she was.

Then a horn sounded, and Vossnell nearly shrieked as Casdamona picked her up and took flight. She clung to the Xicalgen's arms and wrapped her tail around the other's legs. She could hardly bare to look down, and she heard Casdamona laugh at her. Or her reaction. Probably both.

Either way, they arrived quickly, in a way that made her father freak out, as well as the Xicalgen matriarch.

“Casdamona! She's young!”

She stumbled away from the other and her father caught her before she could fall on her face.

“Are you alright, Vossnell?” He asked.

“Just a bit airsick, father.” She replied, sorting herself out.

There were a few chuckles from the gathered tribes, and she looked though the sea of faces until she found Zenmendlar, who had Ezanii perched on his shoulders. She narrowed her eyes at him and laid her ears back as a way of communicating her displeasure. The couple only smiled at her innocently, raising their shoulders in a helpless shrug.

She didn't have time to further express herself as she was drawn to her father's side, and Casdamona to her mother's. The other tribal leaders all had a younger tribe member at their sides, and enough resemblance to be close family.

She tried to lean out and look at the other heirs, but was pulled back as a Sliivrigg with antlers like gnarled tree roots and stooped nearly in half with her age, raised her hand. A hush fell over the crowd, and the elder went back to leaning on her staff. A breath rattled through the deafening silence, and then the elder began to speak.

“Once again the five tribes have gathered for the Challenge of Champions. To our newcomers, welcome! May the Fathomless smile upon you in the coming trials! And to the Challenge veterans, may Respigte watch over you.”

“When last we gathered, our Selzari brethren,” Her father stepped forward when their tribe was spoken. “Won Ritum's and Respigte's favor when Zindrozaan earned the Champions beads.”

The elder turned to Vossnell's father and he straightened his back.

“Yet he is not among your number. What has transpired in the sixty years since our kind has gathered?”

Her father cleared his throat and spoke clearly.

“He was simply bested in a challenge. He has opted to remain behind to care for his child.”

There was a general rush of relief, and the elder bobbed her head in satisfaction. “And who holds the title of Champion now?”

He gestured for Vossnell to step forward as he spoke, stepping back to put his hands on her shoulders.

“My daughter, Vossnell.”

The elder's deep teal eyes squinted at her, and then widened them as a small burst of whispers washed over the older Penthesileans. The elder suddenly used her staff to hook her neck and bring her down to the elder's level.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Casdamona's widened and glance at her mother. The other heirs shifted uncomfortably as well, glancing around and looking unsure about the fuss.

“Another omen.” the elder rasped in a voice of prophecy, her pupils fading into her irises.

Vossnell frantically glanced from side to side, completely frozen save for her twitching tail. She had everyone's attention. She felt their weight of their stares crawling on her skin. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and she swore by the Fathomless that she heard the Siren's whispers and croons from the jewels hanging on her ears.

Abruptly, the elder's eyes cleared and her neck was released. Vossnell hastily straightened her back and stepped back from the range of the elder's staff. The weight of her father's hand on her shoulder was a reassuring one, and the whispers faded. The Sliivrigg went back to leaning on her staff, and took a deep breath. Presumably to address her properly.

“My apologies for the break in protocol.” She muttered before clearing her throat.

“Congratulations to you Vossnell. I would say 'may the Fathomless smile upon you' but it seems they already do.” She said, bowing her head and smiling at the younger Penthesilean.

Vossnell followed suit. “Thank you nonetheless, Elder.”

The ancient Sliivrigg nodded in approval, and turned to address the crowd again. Vossnell and her father returned to their spots in the line up to watch the rest of the proceedings, though the young Penthesilean still felt eyes upon her.

“Once all is said and done, who will be the one to face the Champion in battle? The Challenges will tell!”

A cheer rose from the crowd and was silenced when the elder rose her hand again.

“Now that the formalities are through, I will list the rules, that shall be followed, both in letter and in spirit, lest one's braids be taken.”

The entire crowd shifted uncomfortably at the dishonor implied by the punishment, hands raising to protectively cover their braids. Vossnell herself felt her soul shudder at the words. Death was something Penthesileans could handle. Taking a Penthesilean's braids was something they dreaded.

Their braids were the source of their pride, and only massive offenses may warrant the removal of one's braids, bringing dishonor to them, for they had scorned the teachings of the Fathomless. Dishonor was a Penthesilean's worst nightmare. Who wouldn't dread the idea of having one of their deities spit on their very soul?

“Participants may not challenge our Champion outside of the the ones we will be entertaining. There may be no killing of your opponent. And this may not be a rule, but I feel it needs to be stated, do not sabotage the equipment of your opponent. Not only will Ritum look down upon you, you know the punishment.”

The crowd shifted uncomfortably, but there was a general air of understanding. Then the elder brightened from the grim speech, and inclined her head.

“Now all competitors may put their sticks in the box and we will draw them for the rankings. While that is conducted, the Council will be discussing other matters.”

The tension from earlier dissipated, but an under flow of unease permeated the air with the elder's last statement. But, nonetheless, they went about the task, and the tribal leaders retreated to a makeshift area for their discussion.

The formed a loose circle, and the heirs all shared unsure glances with each other, and for a moment, Vossnell locked eyes with the Gemloken heir with eyes like sunsets. Her world slowed suddenly as she focused on their face, taking in the thin, geometric engravings, far more intricate than her own.

Then the bubble burst as her father spoke, and she and the young Gemloken hastily looked away.

“So what has warranted such counsel?” He asked, eyes smoldering with worry and wariness in equal measure.

“Rumblings of war have surfaced in our time tending to hearth and home. Now they have grown to a roar.” The elder rasped. “The rest of trollkind is in turmoil, and the Heartstone has rotted away and broken like a geode of darkness. A darkness who goes by the name of Gunmar.”

Murmurs broke out in the small room, only to fade as the elder rose her hand. She clearly had no intention of trying to speak over them.

“And on top of all of that, it seems that Ritum themself has surfaced to do something about these foul tidings.”

Vossnell twitched and her father protectively rested his hands on her shoulders as the elder turned to them.

“Or rather, has chosen a Champion in their stead.”

“Elder Sallavrag, please, she is only half way to her second century.” He asked in a tone of pleading.

The rest of the gathered Penthesileans all looked at one another with shock, and the elder's eyes widened. Silence rang again, and her jewels whispered of ill tidings and imminent danger. It stretched out, broken only by gentle or rasped breathing, and filled with wide eyed stares and shock. Shifting uncomfortably, Vossnell delicately cleared her throat.

The flood gates burst open.

Shouts and murmurings filled the air, directed at her father for allowing her to attend the Challenge of Champions. She twitched again, this time with what she could tell it was with an incensed stare and a snarl. What did this remind her of again? Ah yes, the mutterings of her father's detractors. The ones who surely believed that his reign was lost because of what her Da had done. Something that her father had no say in. No knowledge of even.

A cry from the Sliivrigg leader broke her self control. “How dare you let someone so young and inexperienced att-”

“ENOUGH!” She suddenly roared, no doubt heard by the rest of the tribes.

Stunned silence filled the room again, and she once again had wide eyed stares settling upon her. But she didn't let it reign, filling the void with her anger.

“You call me 'inexperienced' and blame my father for MY decisions.” She hissed, narrowing her eyes to smoldering slits. “Young I may be, but age does not denote experience. I bested the Sirens, I bested Zindrozaan, and I can best _you_. I took the title of Champion as was my due, and my presence is mandatory for the Challenge. None of these things were done with my father's wishes in mind. Those things were my decisions, and I would not be standing before you if they weren't so.”

All the while she spoke, she settled her burning gaze of the leaders and Elder Sallavrag even. They were all pinned under the weight of her outrage.

“So how dare you. How DARE you try and pin the willingly admitted recklessness of my actions on my father's head.”

The Sliivrigg leader who had been shrinking back from her seemed to find his spine again, hardening his face and glaring down at her. His lip curled and she bared her fangs.

“And if you had fallen during those decisions? Leaving Zebdagren without mate or heir?”

Vossnell felt her father wince behind her as she thought ' _It's heirESS, you ignorant buffoon'_. But she let her face soften as she took a moment to ponder his query.

She had her answer in an instant, and her face hardened again as she raised her gaze to challenge his.

“Then I would walk into Theires-Adule with my chin held high and present my braids to the Fathomless.”

His eyes widened slightly and he broke this staring contest of theirs. She huffed through her nose, and turned her head away from him. She glanced around the rest of the room.

The leaders and their heirs were staring at her with wide eyes, though they were wearing two distinctly different expressions. The leaders were staring at her with a shellshocked air, surprise burning in their eyes, and the heirs were looking at her awestruck, with small smiles on their faces to complete the look of wonder.

Her face heated and she cleared her throat. She looked to Elder Sallavrag, and inclined her head to her. “I am going to enjoy the festivities before the first Challenge. I will join the discussion of Gunmar and their warmongering later.”

She looked to the rest.

“Good afternoon to you all.” She said by way of farewell before she turned and left.

They let her do so and she stalked away, parting a path in the crowd by the pure virtue of her displeasure. Her ears flicked as she heard a metallic singing in the air, and barely slowed down when she heard her name being called.

“Vossnell! Champion wait!” She heard Casdamona call.

Suddenly the older Penthesilean swooped down in front of her and took her hand in both of hers. “Can we be friends? I know this is crass and all but, _please_. May I call you friend? I would be honored if you would let me. What you said back there was awe-inspiring! Voss - can I call you Voss? - Please say we can be.”

Casdamona's face was eagerly awaiting an answer, excited and still a bit awestruck, and suddenly she was surrounded by the other heirs as well, all of them voicing similar notions about her little speech, and she glanced around a bit at a sudden loss.

She finally turned her gaze back to Casdamna and smiled at her. The Xicalgen's excitement grew with her eager smile. Vossnell nodded while blinking her eyes at her, and Casdamona whooped happily, doing a back flip in the air before planting her feet on the ground. The other other heirs happily pressed for the same before Casdamona shooed them away.

“One at a time!” She hissed at them before taking Vossnell's hand and dragging her again.

Vossnell laughed at the energy the older Penthesilean had, turning her head and locking eyes with the Gemloken heir again. Heir _ess_ , she realized, spying the bright blue bead on her personal braid. She smiled shyly up at her and she did the same back down at her.

Then she was dragged along by the Xicalgen heiress, followed closely by the rest of the successors who were eager to ask her the same thing.

By the end of that day, she had three new friendship beads in her hair, and her new friends had petty squabbles to see who could drag her where. Her face ached from smiling so much, and her sides were split from laughter, and her friends grinned in victory as she fell to the ground, clenching her sides.

All thoughts of ominous rumblings left her mind, and she did not heed the whispers of sorrow.

As far as she was concerned, this was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! Sorry for the delay! My time away hadn't been as productive as I would I liked! But anyway, here we have the beginning of the actual story. The first three chapters were just necessary set up for other things yet to come! Let me know what you think!  
> Also, I'm going to be hosting a party with in the week, so the next chapter might be delayed for a day or two!


	6. It Takes Good To Know The Bad...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Challenge of Champions progresses, and war is around the corner.

The next day was when the first Challenge would take place, and she felt the Sliivrigg leader's eyes burning a hole in the back of her head. She ignored him in favor of speaking with his daughter, Aeonnessa.

The pretty Sliivrigg was explaining that she wouldn't be able to fight any of the competitors unless they've already lost, and she was grumbling. It was no fun being a returning Champion it seemed.

There were five matches a day, one within each tribe until the the five tribe champions had the opportunity to brawl with one another in a battle royal. The winner would go on to face the Champion in combat.

“So what does every non participant do until then?” She asked with a irritated flick of her ear.

“Hunt, show off their crafts, do stupid things with their friends, show off. Basically everything that happens at home, just with a lot more trolls.” She said, waving a hand as she she turned back to the fight.

Vossnell winced slightly as the larger fighter was thrown into the wall just under where they were sitting. She heard him groan, and push himself up to fight again. ' _Always fighting to the last...'_ she recalled.

It was what every Penthesilean learned when they were young, and were taught to take to heart. It was one of the most important lessons for their people, born from one of their most important values. It was Ritum's lesson unto their people, and they strove to never disappoint them.

Either way, with the way he was in, his opponent was able to seize victory, to the roaring cheer of the spectators. He congratulated them, and they offered to take him on a hunt, or any preferred activity. He clapped them on the shoulder and agreed to the hunt, the two of them talking and laughing as if they hadn't just been trying to beat each other into the dirt.

She smiled and stood up, stretching her arms above her head as she and Aeonnessa moved out of the spectator seats to go take part in other festivities. She noticed the Sliivrigg looking her up and down.

“You're not really 150 are you?” She suddenly asked.

“No. I'm 170. My father flubbed my age a bit. Saying 'half way to my second century' is a bit easier than saying 'just a bit over half way to my second century.' The former flows better.” She explained.

“That's a bit better at any rate. How long have you had the Champions beads?”

“55 years.”

Aeonnessa looked surprised. “And nobody challenged you for them?”

Vossnell laughed. “No, everyone who was of age to fight challenged me. Except for my father.”

Aeonnessa looked confused yet delighted at the same time. “How?”

“I bested the Sirens in combat. One of them, I'm pretty sure, was trying to drown me. One tried to rip off my arm with her teeth. The other tossed me around like a doll. I think I can handle Penthesileans who weren't trying to kill me.” She chuckled with a shake of her head.

Aeonnessa opened her mouth to ask further questions, but she was cut off as she yelped. All Vossnell saw was a blur of dusty orange before she too yelped.

“Dellen'staa! Put us down!” She yelled at the Lean'esil heir.

He laughed at them both and set them down after Aeonnessa smacked at him with her tail. He stayed crouched to their height and Vossnell pulled on one of the various braids that made up his mane. He batted her hand away and stood up, dwarfing them quite effectively as they only came up to his side, smiling down at them.

“I swear, if you keep doing that, I am going to peel off your scales while you sleep.” Vossnell hissed, pointing a harsh finger at him.

The Lean'esil heir raised his hands up in a mock surrender, still smiling at them, though this time, it had an added effect of him trying not to laugh.

“No offense, but I feel like I'm getting threatened by a lizard.”

She gave him a deadpan look. “You're an _overgrown_ lizard. How does it feel being threatened by yourself?”

“Well, you have me there.” He laughed, beginning to walk with them.

It feel into easy discussions about what to do now that the day's match was finished, when Vossnell was suddenly snatched up again.

“VOSS! You should come hunting with me and Quellzana!” Casdamona said happily, her hatchling's wings working vigorously to keep all three of them in the air.

Vossnell's mind stalled for a moment. Quellzana, she knew that name... Oh. Right. The Gemloken heiress.

Her ears swiveled forward and she tried to not look so interested as she agreed, and Casdamona looked at Aeonnessa and Dellen'staa, offering them a spot on the hunting party as well.

Aeonnessa agreed, while Dellen'staa explained that he was still adjusting to the area. Besides, desert hunting made for more stationary tactics.

They waved him off, and Casdamona had the courtesy to warn him to get his energy up, because she was going to take him hunting before the Challenge of Champions was through.

They parted ways, and Casdamona all but dragged her and Aeonnessa to where the rest of the hunting party was waiting. Quellzana was speaking to another Gemloken that had a striking resemblance to her, and she seemed to be watching the area for something. Or someone, she realized, when her sunset eyes settled on her and lit up while her ears swiveled forward. Vossnell's own ears perked and swiveled forward, and the bull by Quellzana laughed. Their personal spell was broken, and Quellzana smacked who Vossnell could only assume was her brother.

Casdamona snickered, and the bull brushed off his sister's assault to walk over to her. She glanced at his braids and noted she was correct in her assumption. Either way, he dropped himself down to her height.

“You're Vossnell, right? My sister can't shut up about what you did in the council meeting yesterday.”

“Bevenix!” the heiress said warningly.

“What? It's hardly my fault for telling the truth.” He scoffed, standing up straight again.

The daull glared at him evilly, lashing her tail. Casdamona came over and threw an arm around the Gemloken heiress, smiling widely.

“He is right though. That was a pretty awesome display.”

“It certainly smacked my father into place.” Aeonnessa laughed.

Vossnell shifted with a bit of an uncomfortable chuckle, rubbing her neck. “Yeah... I did kinda go off...”

“Ha! That's an understatement! I'm just glad you got the gears in their heads to turn!” Casdamona smiled brightly.

The other two heiress that were there for her outburst agreed and she shook them off, hurriedly changing the subject. “Well enough about that. Shouldn't we start hunting? What are we hunting anyway?”

“What did you catch for your Rite?” Aeonnessa asked.

“Amphitheres are a tropical creature. We won't find any in these forests.” She responded, before looking at the Gemloken's.

“This is your region. What do you usually catch?”

From there, they wasted an hour arguing over what their quarry would be, and they were joined by Zenmendlar and Ezanii, who only added fuel to the fire. Another thirty minutes were added due to their debate about roles in their party. But, finally, they were able to set out.

Casdamona was their scout, unable to participate in the hunt since it could harm her young charge, and Quellzana and Bevenix laughed at her, her two fellow Selzari, and Aeonnessa when they ran into various trees and tripped on their roots. Those shenanigans nearly cost them the chimera they had set their sights on.

When all was said and done, Vossnell was hunched from the aches she acquired during the chase, Ezanii was dealing with her overdramatic mate, who kept trying to use her as support and effectively flattening her when they fell. Zenmendlar laughed as she beat her fist against his side, yelling at him to get off her, and Vossnell couldn't help but chuckle at their antics.

Bevenix had the chimera draped across his shoulders, and Quellzana was helping Aeonnessa walk straight. She had no idea where Casdamona was. She could hardly see her through the canopy at any rate, so she supposed that it hardly mattered.

“I never want to hunt like this again.” The Sliivrgg heiress groaned.

“You Sliivrigg hunt in packs, right?” Benevix asked.

“That is a disgusting oversimplification.” She huffed, while Quellzana smacked her brother's side.

“Be nice to the visitors, little brother.”

“Yes, Benevix, be nice to my friends.” Vossnell added.

“Could I get away with giving them flack if I was your friend too?” He asked cheekily.

“I don't know. The friends I have don't give each other flack.” She replied with a shrug. Never mind that she had only had three of them for a day.

They occupied themselves with similar points of discussion on the way back, and Casdamona joined them just as they had began to approach the outskirts of the Gathering Grounds. She was oddly quiet, and would not answer any of their questions.

They quickly shrugged it off however, since most of the party was ready to start dozing here they were standing. They bid each other goodbye until tomorrow, and Casdamona's strange behavior fell away from their minds.

 

The next day, after a suitable nap, Vossnell didn't bother going to any of the matches. Instead, she went to work on her craft in the forge. It took her a bit of time to decide on what she would be practicing that day, for her metalworking Mastery was a broad one, and she couldn't neglect one for another.

Eventually she decided on making silver and gold brooches. Her working of the precious metals wasn't going to be nearly as fine as that of a Master Goldsmith, but she did have to keep her vague Mastery in practice, especially when it came to the finer metals. She wasn't a Blacksmith afterall. Even if she did enjoy forging weapons and armor.

She felt eyes on her as she worked, and her tail lashed at the attention. She may have been he youngest Penthesilean at the Challenge of Champions, but it was hardly a warrant to stare. So she made a point to ignore the other masters in the forge while she worked.

Her day passed quickly in this manner, and she went on to give her brooches and clasps to a vendor and asking them to sell them. She told them to keep the profits they made of her work. She hardly needed it anyway.

The next day, she fooled around the grounds with her friends, laughing at the absurdities and mishaps, and getting a new friendship bead from Benevix. She also got a few courtship offers as well, which left her flustered and – in the case of the first proposal – confused. She turned them down of course, since it was only three days into the Challenge, and they knew next to nothing about her. Besides, the manners of the offers threw her off.

Gemloken courting habits were different from Selzari traditions.

“How so?” Benevix asked, running a whetstone of the blade of his pole arm.

“Well,” She began, before pausing. She had never actually been able to observe her people's courtship rituals. There was one, but it was overshadowed by the terror of nearly get squished by two brawling dams.

She glanced to Zenmendlar. “Help me out, I've never actually seen one, or been on the receiving end.”

“W-What? WHY? Why has nobody tried to court you before now!?” Quellzana suddenly slapped her hand over her mouth, looking mortified.

Vossnell merely shrugged. “I'm not pretty by Selzari standards. And my accomplishments seem to intimidate others in my age group.”

Benevix looked confused now. “What do Selzari find attractive?”

“Physically or otherwise?”

“Physically, because any Penthesilean in their right mind would LOVE to have you as a mate with your prestige. I mean, come on! You're the Chief's daughter, and you faced the Sirens! Your Masteries require a lot more skill than other, more specific ones. And you're the Champion! The youngest one in history to boot!” he said, bit passionately, slight outrage burning in his eyes.

“I'm also the daughter of an Exile.” She rebuked. “That's a stain not many can look past.”

Her circle of friends were quiet at this, but she brushed it off. “But, it's not like his actions are mine or my father's. So I hardly care if they're too bigoted to look past that.”

“Anyway, Selzari find muted hides to be attractive. Greens, browns, and most things in between. They like light manes too. Golden brown, light green, the like. And eyes, they like them to be earthy. Green hazel, honey brown, leaf green.” She explained, gesturing to Zenmendlar and Ezanii. “Like these two. They're very attractive.”

They really were. Zenmendlar had the envy of many in the tribe, as did Ezanii.

Zenmendlar had a lovely green base with dark brown stripes across his back and arms, and his mane was light brown, with streaks of golden yellow. And his eyes reminded her of sunlight though the jungle canopy, a bright green, with pale green speckled in as well.

Ezanii was an earth toned beauty. Sunlit amber eyes, paired with a specked brown hide, with a lovely honey brown mane.

Then there was Vossnell. Glassy ash skin that flashed in the light. A soot colored mane that only highlighted the paleness of her face, as well as the bright, fiery colors of her eyes. She wasn't a pretty Selzari. She was a pretty troll, just not a pretty Selzari.

She turned to the others. “What about you guys? What do your tribes find attractive?”

The conversation wandered, and she found out why the Gemloken suitors approached her. Apparently she was very attractive in their eyes, with her coloration and hide texture. Symmetry was a common vein in what qualified as attractive, she found out.

Still, she brushed off comments from Benevix and Quellzana. “I don't care if I'm considered pretty or not. I care about my abilities, and if I'm fair in my judgements.”

“By the Fathomless, you're great.” Benevix muttered. “Now I _really_ wish I was there to see you snap at the old timers.”

“I had simply had enough of others blaming my father for his loved ones' decisions.” She huffed.

Then she stood up, turning and beginning to walk away. “I'm going to go train. Who wants to spar with me?”

 

Vossnell's days passed like that, rotating between spectating, hunting, and crafting. It was mostly mundane things, but she had a wonderful time interacting with others as they grew used to her presence. She had less courtship proposals as the Penthsilean people learned about her, but that hardly bothered her. She wanted her merit to be measured by her deeds, not her looks and 'respectability'.

Though she still had plenty of admirers, she was told. Those who wrote back to their families and told them about the Champion said that many in her age group had a lot of respect for her, and looked up to her. This flustered her, and she smiled, asking them to send her thanks for the regard.

All the while, the final challenge was approaching quicker with each challenge, and she was besides herself with restless energy. She participated in more hunts, crafted more things than she usually did, and she paced when she was with her friends. They laughed at her eager anxiousness, and she only smiled sheepishly.

Then something exciting happened. Something that had caused her entire tribe to celebrate quite extensively. Zenmendlar and Ezanii were expecting an addition to their family. That was cause enough to celebrate, but then word got around that they were expecting _two_ additions. This sent the entire Penthesilean nation abuzz.

Twins had not been seen in an age! Not since the Split over twenty thousand years ago!

Vossnell had been there when her friend discovered such, and his and his mate's giddiness readily transferred to her, mingling with her already present restlessness.

But along with all the joy and excitement – good, happy things – the rumblings on the horizon grew louder, and her father and the other leaders worried about what it could mean for them. They were removed from the rest of troll society due to their secrecy, and their ability to walk in the day. But if they sat back as Gunmar and his horde swept though the land, they would eventually find them and bring them a gift of war.

Vossnell listened to these discussions, and she felt the outrage and ambition burning behind her eyes.

The older Penthesileans argue, and Elder Sallavrag remained strangely silent, watching her rather intently. Her stomach twisted and curled with a chill, even as she felt her irritation grow. Why include the youths if you don't let them speak?

“We should go meet them instead of waiting-”

“If your input was wanted, it would have been asked for.” The Sliivrigg leader hissed.

She snarled at him, and noted the way Aeonnessa winced slightly. She was going to rip his head off.

Her father growled a response to him. “Do not speak to my daughter that way!”

“You should teach her to hold her tongue!”

Once again, Vossnell snapped.

“ _I AM THE CHAMPION OF THE PENTHESILEAN PEOPLE AND HEIRESS TO THE SELZARI TRIBE!_ ” She roared loudly, silencing him with her volume and outrage.

“My words are just as important as my father's or any of the older Pethesileans! Now let me spe-”

“You're not even old enough to drink yet!” He snarled.

Vossnell glared at him viciously, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aeonnessa's face harden.

“FATHER! For once in your life, let the youth speak!” She cried, moving from her father's side to stand by Vossnell.

He looked surprised, and Vossnell smiled as she took her friend's hand and squeezed it in a silent thanks. She turned her gaze back to him and scowled in a polite warning.

Her gaze shifted to the other council members. “I believe we should go meet them for ourselves, instead of waiting around for them to find us and bring war to our doorstep.”

“I have a question for you Champion. Why?” The Gemloken leader said. She glanced at the bull, and made a passing note of the bright blue bead in her hair.

“Because we have been hiding from the the world for too long. Why should we stand by and let the rest of trollkind fall to this tyrant and his bloodlust? Why should we wait for him to learn of us and turn his attentions to our people? Our homes? Why should we?”

“We are not meek. We do not wait for things to come to us. We are warriors. So why not put our Fathomless' teachings to use and take a stand against him?”

The Xicalgen matriarch blinked slowly, and nodded in slow agreement, making Casdamona bounce slightly. The Gemloken queen nodded as well. The Lean'esil leader smiled and said to her father. “She'll make a fine Chieftain one day.”

Vossnell felt her father put his hand on her shoulder, and heard the proud smile in his voice. “I think so too.”

The Elder suddenly spoke in the small quiet that followed. “Then the vote is cast. Our people will prepare for war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for the delay! I got a bit of writer's block, and when you add that with an inability to sit still, it makes for a miserable time! I think I may have to up the schedule to Biweekly instead of weekly, but I'm iffy on that, since the story is starting to pick up, and I'm getting to the scenes I've been imagining for a while!  
> Anyway! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I really like having Vossnell go off on people for some reason.


	7. ...Tenderness to Know Adversity...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love and War begin, but not all is fair...

From there, Vossnell urged the Council members to make this news known to their respective tribes. A quick glance at the other successors told her that they would be spreading the news if their parents didn't.

Luckily, the elders listened to their Champion, and announced the war they needed to begin preparations for. She shared a smile with her fellow successors, a strange giddiness arising in her. She was making changes in society, and it was _wonderful_.

The Challenge continued, though now, tension was rife among the people. There were murmurings of the upcoming war, voicing of troubled thoughts, and concerning opinions on the enemies cause.

 

“ _I think we'll be able to beat them easily, just stall them until the dawn comes.'_

“ _Where is the honor in that!?”_

“ _War is war. They've been tearing apart the land. Why should we adhere to our honor if they have none?”_

“ _And spit on Tepure's teaching!? Are you mad!?”_

“ _And? Ritum is the Prime Fathomless. The others fall to the wayside for their teachings.”_

 

Vossnell flicked her ear as she passed the hushed conversation. It was not as hushed as they thought.

What was that one thinking? None of the Fathomless presided over the others. They were the personification of their people's values. The Penthesilean people should be striving to follow their examples. _All_ of them. Not just picking the ones they admired and casting the others to the wayside.

She kept her outrage to herself. She just hoped that they wouldn't be an issue in the coming war. She shook her head, and tried to focus on the remaining time she had during the Challenge of Champions.

Except she was unable to do any of her preferred activities, and she could not seem to locate her friends. So she instead wandered the makeshift craft square that had been set up before the Challenge by their Gemloken hosts. Here, the more delicate crafts were practiced. Glassblowing, textile weaving, gemcutting, crystal carving, carpentry, painting, everything that was unfit for the forges. She made a passing note to come again and practice her Leatherworking Mastery.

She took some pleasure in looking at all the pretty things, and marveled as she watched the masters work. She paid for a few keepsakes, something from a master of each of the other tribes. It was simply fascinating to look at the differences in style.

The sharp and delicate look of Sliivrigg crafts, compared to the gentle, and sloping preference of the Lean'esil. The bold and harsh lines of Gemloken hands in contrast to the flowing, simple style that the Xicalgen preferred.

She carefully put her new knickknacks away, and looked around, startling slightly to see Quellzana at a crystal carving station. She smiled and approached quietly, looking over the completed products and feeling awe bloom in her chest.

The crystal sculptures were different from the other Gemoloken masters she had seen. They had a flow that rivaled that of Xicalgen masters, but were so much more detailed. There was a lot of variations as well. Some were simple, striking in the colors they had, and others were much more elaborate, like the amethyst geode that had a tree of jade and copper affixed to its crystals.

She let out a gasp of delight as she spotted a sphere that reminded her of the Siren of the Deep's tail. She saw one that was splashing like water, with glass shards affixed to the front, going from a deep blue, to a translucent hue, with a notable band of teal.

Yet another caught one of her eyes, and when she turned to it, she smiled brightly. It was seemed plate like, with long, many pronged strands breaking away from it and ending in smaller colorful plates, and just the the left of the main plate's center, was a predatory eye staring out from a wreath of feathers.

She looked up, seeing that Quellzana was setting her latest project aside, her focus on her craft.

“They're all lovely.”

The Gemloken heiress jolted away from her station, her latest creation still in her hands. Her sunset eyes settled on her, and her shoulders rose as her eyes widened.

Vossnell only smiled at her, waiting for a response.

The daull suddenly got a hold of herself and set aside her project, smiling softly. “Thank you, though not many seem to like them. Gemlokens at least. They like the geometric patterns.”

“I love them. They're unlike anything I've seen so far.”

The heiress laughed lightly.

“I've heard that before. That last bit.”

Vossnell looked at the sculptures, then back to Quellzana. She looked a bit downcast, looking at her crafts. Her eyes were a bit dim, and there was a silent sigh.

That wouldn't do.

“Could you tell me about them? Your crafts?”

The daull startled and looked at her with surprise. Then a grin split her face, her eyes lit up and she launched into her explanations, picking up the one she was explaining.

She watched her fondly, her chest fluttering as she watched Qellzana explain her inspirations and the techniques she no doubt knew were going over the metalsmith and leatherworker's head. Vossnell didn't quite care that she didn't understand the terminology she was using, but she did care a fair deal for the way the other heiress was lighting up.

Quellzana suddenly looked her way, and her heart jumped at the passion and joy in her eyes. Vossnell couldn't help but stare at her, and the Gemloken was suddenly fumbling, a bashful expression on her face.

“I-I'm rambling... aren't I?” she asked, reaching a hand up and playing with a strand of her curly mane.

“I like it when you ramble. You light up in the prettiest way.” Vossnell said without thinking.

Suddenly they were both embarrassed. Vossnell stalled and was berating herself, and Quellzana seemed to be too flustered to even speak. Vossnell took a deep breath and smiled at the other. "Mind showing me how you do this?”

“Oh, uh, uh, sure! Step around and I, ah, can get started.”

Vossnell smiled and did just that sitting down on the bench next to her.

The hours passed quickly like that, the Champion watching the Gemloken heiress fondly, bashful glances thrown her way.

Eventually they left the craft square, and finally got to meet up with friends. Vossnell soon decided to go spend time with her father, and bid her circle a farewell before she began walking. She heard muttering and hushed exclamations behind her, and slowed slightly.

“Wait, Vossnell! I-”

The Champion turned to look at the Gemloken heiress, who looked even more flustered than she had at her stand.

She swallowed when she saw that she had her attention, and bowed her head slightly. “I-I would court you for-for an amphithere dress, a, uh, necklace of silver, and a, uh, um... a vest of plate mail, if, if you'd have me...” She stuttered through her courtship proposal like a foal trying to walk for the first time.

Vossnell stared as her heart thundered away in her chest, her ears were swiveled forward and pointed at the Gemloken heiress, who was now anxiously shifting from hoof to hoof. Finally Vossnell smiled and began walking back towards the group.

“I'd have have you if only to know what our skies would look like together, if that's alright with you.”

Quellzana stared at her with a starry eyes, and she suddenly took her hands, smiling brightly with silver lined eyes. “Of course!”

Vossnell smiled widely and let a surprised laugh as she was picked up and spun around, their friend's whistling at them in the background. Vossnell paid them no mind as she threw her arms around the daull's shoulders.

“FINALLY! You two have been dancing around each other since the beginning of the Challenge!” Casdamona yelled, doing a backflip in the air and then uttering a thanks to her hatchling.

Benevix suddenly caught them in a hug, laughing as he looked at Vossnell. “Welcome to the family!”

“Same to you!”

After a few more comments from their friends, Vossnell and Quellzana ran off to make proper courtship beads for each other.

 

The Challenge came to a close, and Vossnell easily kept her Champion beads, even if she had a new scar that went from her waist to her thigh.

The gathering grounds were converted into a war camp, since the Gemloken mountains were the closest to their new enemy's path of destruction, and the gathered tribes were granted access to the Gemloken city.

But in the midst of the preparations of war, there was a celebration. The entire nation was partaking, much to the fluster for Zenmendlar and Ezanii, but it was the Selzari that were the most exuberant, for obvious reasons. The first twins seen in an Age, and their tribe was the one blessed with them.

The other tribes jokingly said to her and her father that they had clearly earned the Fathomless' favor in the last century, and Vossnell had trouble saying that they weren't. With a clear conscience at least.

But the things she found to be hilarious was watching Penthesileans indulge in too much drink and make a fool of themselves. Ezanii seemed to already be displaying strong maternal instincts, and she was glowering at the heavy drinkers and the Champion had her yowl and hiss a few times already. She definitely heard the dam yelling about the presence of alcohol and drunkards, and the stupid antics they were getting up to.

Vossnell was a decade too young to drink, but she hardly cared, instead spending time with Quellzana in a quiet corner after giving the expecting couple their congratulations.

“Hey Voss? What do you think our children would look like?” The taller heiress suddenly asked.

Vossnell jumped slightly and looked up at her _ceomrzon,_ who was suddenly very flustered.

“I-I mean! Uh, hypothetically! Like, IF we had children, which I'm not saying we would, I mean! Not that I don't want-!”

Vossnell laughed lightly and rested a hand against her arm. “I would want them to have your eyes.”

Quellzana slowed and curled in on herself slightly, down to Vossnell's level.

“And if they had your eyes?” She asked.

The Champion shrugged. “Then they have my eyes. It's just I think yours are prettier.”

The daull laughed lightly. “You, my _ceomrzon,_ are a dreadful flatterer.”

“I say it because I think it's true. Your eyes are like sunsets. Bright warm sun light fading into beautiful mystery.”

The heiress' eyes widened and she suddenly pressed her head into Vossnell's shoulder, giggling softly. “I had no idea you were a Wordsmith too~”

Vossnell chuffed and pressed her head to the side of her partner's. “Hardly. I just think my sky looks like your eyes.”

“There's the flattery again!” She laughed, leaning away and resting her hand against the Champion's face.

“If my eyes are a sunset, then yours remind me of the sunrise.”

Vossnell smiled and pressed into the touch. Her eyes were more like fire than anything else. But she relished the fluttery feeling in her chest and stomach, so she let herself believe it.

“Thank you, _ceomrane._ ”

Their evening dallied like that, speaking softly, and slowly unfolding the mysteries of each other, sealing an important part of their courtship. At least until Vossnell's friends found them, and dragged them along into the merry making.

 

Eventually, with their preparations complete, and every warrior at the ready, they awaited the arrival of their enemy on the first battle field.

Ezanii had given birth to the eagerly awaited twins, and Zenmendlar was taking care of them for this battle.

“ _You're a much fiercer warrior than me, Ezanii. They need you more than me. We'll be here when you get back.” He had said to her, before touching his forehead to hers and sharing their breath._

_She had smiled softly and brushed her hand over their children's heads, who purred and smiled at their mother, grabbing her fingers._

“ _Rit, Twe, be good for your father._ _I'll be back soon._ ”

The Bondmates shared one last gesture of affection, and parted.

Now, Vossnell stood at the forefront of the small army as the sun set. She was only a few feet in of them, standing just beyond the tree line. She, as the Champion, must first address the enemy, telling them to either turn back, or face the consequences.

It was a formality that followed Tepure's teaching, and one she felt that Gunmar and his horde did not deserve, but she must stick to the Fathomless' teachings.

Her ears perked and swiveled forward as she heard marching across the clearing, and she crossed her arms as she watched the treeline. Strange shades glowed in the dark, and she blinked all four eyes as she watched the Gumm-Gumm horde emerge. Her eyes darted over the soldiers with the full armor and strange green hue, a sudden brightness catching her eye.

Her gaze darted to the front of their formations and she paused at the sight of the bull. She appreciatively traced the intricate patterns that glowed a feminine blue, and she glanced at the wicked blade in his hand. She looked at his broad horns, and finally locked eyes with him.

One glowing blue eye was locked on her form, and his expression was crossed between confusion and hostility. She did one last once over him and hummed.

She thought he'd be taller.

“Are you Gunmar the Black?” She called out to him, shifting her weight.

“Yes. And who are you?” He demanded.

“Vossnell the Undefeated.” She did not think the title appropriate, but it was the one she had been given by her people, so she might as well use it.

“ And what is your purpose? To challenge me?”

“You, and your army.” She replied.

“You are only one warrior. And you are alone. You don't stand a chance!”

“I guess losing an eye really does impede one's depth perception! Look closer, Skullcrusher!” She challenged.

She heard him growl at the veiled jab, and watched him look around. His eye widened and darted back to snarl at her.

She gave him a vicious grin.

“You wish to go to war? Then let us war!”

She drew her short swords and charged towards the tyrant, her people at her back to deal with the sickly green thralls. Gunmar ran at her, leaving a light gouge in the ground as his blade trailed behind him.

Just before they clashed, she raised her blades above her head and went to slam them down into him. He blocked, and immediately wrenched her to the side.

Without hesitation, she released one of her weapons and struck him heavily across the face. He stumbled away and she followed him, picking up her discarded weapon and transferring it to her hand. In the next instant, she was giving him an endless flurry of light attacks meant to exhaust.

Quickly his stamina was flagging from blocking the endless light blows, and she suddenly put most of her strength into the next blow. She saw the blow connect to the opening she made, and she watched him fall and stay down. Some part of her warned her to check if was down for the count, but a battle was waging, and she couldn't afford the time.

So she turned away, and struck down a soldier aiming to throw a lance at her face. Her instincts screamed at her to turn around. And something else, someone, was too.

“CHAMPION! LOOK OUT!”

She was suddenly pushed aside, and she heard the sound of metal piercing stone flesh.

Vossnell fell onto her hands, and whirled around, her fiery eyes widening as she saw the gray stone creeping up Ezanii's warm toned body as Gunmar turned away.

A small, immature part of her twinged at the way she was ignored by the tyrant, but it was largely ignored as she stared at her friend...'s Bondmate.

Her preconception of time slowed as Ezanii turned towards her, her warm eyes smoldering with sorrow and regret. But her face was set gently, so that those emotions were lost as the gray claimed her, the warmth left, and she lived no more.

The sounds of battle where drowned out by her own racing heart beat. Her jewels sang with sorrow and loss, and only one thing crossed her mind.

_Ezanii had promised them she would be back soon._

Red bloomed across her vision and anguish stabbed through her chest. The night darkened even more, and Gunmar glowed violet.

She surged to her feet, and _roared_. She lunged for the glowing bull, and slashed her blades down his back. She distantly heard a cry of pain, and slammed her tail into him as she spun around.

Gunmar was sent flying through ranks of his soldiers, and she darted after him, a single purpose on her mind.

She saw him turn to her, his eye widening in surprise. A snarl tore from her throat as she locked blades with him, and his eye brightened. She slammed her tail into his legs and their battle grew from there.

Night crept on, and still Vossnell and Gunmar battled. She did not know how many blows they traded, evaded, and blocked, but her rage still burned. She would see his demise with her own eyes, or she would die. And she refused to fall until she had claimed vengeance.

Their blades locked yet again, growls rumbling through her chests and throats, when a voice cut though her enraged haze.

“ _VOSSNELL! THE SUNRISE!_ ”

She turned her head towards the east at her _ceomrzon_ 's words, at the same time as Gunmar. Through her red haze, she saw the golds and the pinks of the approaching dawn, and part of her noted that a sunrise seen through rage _did_ look like her eyes.

She and the tyrant turned to glower at each other.

Two desires warred in her. The desire to avenge Ezanii and bring peace to her family, and the desire to stay true to the Fathomless.

She was a day walker, she could keep him here until the sunlight filled the clearing, and watch him turn to stone as she watched Ezanii. But that victory would be hollow without honor. Ritum was missing a piece without their fellow Fathomless.

Her heart ached, she snarled as she dropped one of her blades, and punched Gunmar across the face so hard he was sent flying. Her knuckles burned as she turned and went to her _ceomrzon_ 's side.

Quellzana's hand hovered over her shoulder, and her sunset eyes were burning with concern.

“Is everyone - ?”

“Our fallen and wounded were set back to camp. The rest of us were waiting for you.”

The Champion opened her mouth, and then closed it, looking over her shoulder at their enemy. Her eyes caught Gunmar's glare, and she looked back to the Gemloken heiress.

“Let's return to camp.” She sighed, the red finally leaking from her vision.

 

Once they arrived, Vossnell shrugged off the glares that rested on her shoulders, and went to find Zenmendlar. She weaved through the crowd, filled with mourners, and rushing Xicalgen healers, anxious to find her friend.

She found him kneeling in front of his Bondmate, his son sleeping in the crook of his arm, and his daughter on his shoulder. His face was wet with tears, pained burned in his eyes, and his chest silently heaved with anguish. And on top of his heartbreak, his whole body seemed to be sagging with some unknown weight.

Her chest ached at the sight. She knew that Bonded Penthesileans faded after their Bondmate passed on to Theires-Adule. She watched her father fade, aging at a faster rate that the others in his generation. She had watched the color fade from his mane, and had to watch as he slowly became more exhausted with his duties, unable to stand as long as he used to without help.

She swallowed thickly and approached him slowly.

“Zenmend?” She started, coming to stand next to him.

He jolted slightly at looked up at her, hastily wiping his tears with his free hand as Twe adjusted her place on his shoulder.

“Vossnell! I just...” He trailed off, staring at his mate's final repose, and her heart twisted again.

“I'm so sorry, Zenmend. It should have been me. She pushed me aside and he killed her. Gunmar killed her, and I -”

“Stop. It's not your fault. Ezanii would have never forgiven herself if she had let our Champion die when she could have done something to stop it.” He sighed, resting his free hand on her elbow.

Vossnell knelt down beside him and sighed as she look at Rit, then to Twe.

“They didn't even get to really meet her...” She said sadly as she picked up his daughter.

Zenmendlar let out a sudden sharp sob and he nodded in agreement. “I know...!”

His went went to cover his eyes as he curled in on himself, sobbing quietly, trying not to wake his son. Vossnell's eyes burned as she watched him mourn, wails coming up in the distance from other mourners. Her vision blurred, and she leaned against him, trying to provide comfort she didn't know how to give.

“I wish I could've had the chance to call her friend.” She said softly, looking down at the infant dam in her arms.

She had a lovely mix of the dappled effect Ezanii had, and the stripes her father had gracing his hide. And while Ezanii's hide was exclusively shades of brown, Twe had a fair amount of green on her skin. But her eyes were painfully similar to her mother's, locked onto her father with distress on her face, close to crying herself.

He glanced her way, his eyes lined with silver and irritated. He looked like he was about to say something, but then he noticed Twe.

Quickly he sat up, wiped his eyes, and gently took her from Vossnell's arm, cradling her in his hand and raising her to his face. She put her hands under his lower set of eyes and whined softly, her eyes teary as well.

He nuzzled her gently. “I'm sorry Twe... I didn't mean to upset you...” He sighed.

Sadness stabbed Vossnell's heart, and blocked her throat as she tried not to further distress the child. Her hand came over her mouth and watched this scene with teary vision, trying to breath steadily.

She had just found some semblance of composure when Zenmendlar settled his daughter with her brother. Then the handsome bull turned towards he and rested a hand on her shoulder as he looked her in the eye.

“You do not need a bead in your hair to consider her a friend, Voss. I think you two were already friends. Close anyway. You two would have run the whole village!” His attempt to joke like he used to fell flat as he tried to laugh, instead making a broken sob.

Somehow, that hurt even more.

Her weak composure broke and tears fell from her eyes. She made no sound, the way her throat tightened not letting her do so, and she valiantly tried to scrub away the tears before the stained her face.

Her shoulders bounced and she heard her friend try to comfort her. Her breathing came in short jagged gasps as she tried not to cry.

Zenmendlar drew her to his chest, and she hugged him tightly, finally getting out what she was practically dying to say.

“I'm sorry! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!” She couldn't say anything else. Sorry never got anybody anywhere in these types of situations, but it was all she could say. All she could think of.

“Its okay! Its not your fault!” He cried, gently pushing her away to look at her face.

He was obviously looking for tear tracks, but there were none for her. Her skin was the wrong texture and the wrong composition. Too glassy. Too smooth.

And he was wrong. It was her fault. It was all her fault. If she had made sure Gunmar was down, it wouldn't have happened. If she had used their immunity to their advantage she could have avenged her. Could have stopped his warpath.

She didn't say any of this of course, but she suddenly felt hollow.

Her chest still ached, her heart still bled, her eyes still burned, but it was as if her spirit had been misplaced. Her jewels sang comfort to her, apologies and condolences.

They also sang of distrust and irritation.

She turned as Zenmendlar began to say something else, and saw a small group approaching her and her friend.

The daull leading the small pack looked angry, glaring straight at her. Once he saw that he had her attention he pointed an accusatory finger at her, his tone vicious as he bared his fangs at her.

“All of this death is your fault!” He snarled.

She hardly flinched. He had a very good point. She was their nation's Champion. She lead the charge, she had urged the Council to let them find and meet the horde for combat, she helped plan the attacks.

But she was also sticking by the Fathomless' teaching.

So Vossnell sighed slightly and spoke. “A victory without honor is a hollow one.”

“He doesn't deserve our honor! We should have attacked his camp while they slept through the day!” He snarled.

Her doused fire began to reignite. The water of her tears was receding. He was going to be pushing his luck.

“What? Like assassins? We are warriors. We are Penthesileans. We do not skulk in the shadows and steal lives away.”

“Like he stole hers!?” He snarled gesturing to Ezanii's remains.

Vossnell felt her face harden and her eyes flash. Zenmendlar stood up behind her, growling lowly. The Lean'esil daull realized his mistake quite quickly, but not quick enough.

“If she had not pushed our Champion out of the way, then it is highly likely that our Champion would not be standing here now.” Zenmendlar growled, glowering at her detractor as he loomed behind her, his twins cradled in the crook of his arm.

The daull shrunk back slightly, and then looked at her again. “You shouldn't even be on the battlefield.”

“Yes I should. I am the Champion. The only reason I should not be seeing battle are if I am dead, injured, or carrying a child.”

“No. I mean you shouldn't be on the battle field because you're weakwilled.”

Her lower left eye ticked. Anger stoked in her heart. A growl tickled her raw throat.

“What do you mean by that?” She said slowly, hoping he would realize his mistake.

“You could have ended him at sunrise! You could have made this all worthwhile with Gunmar's death! But you didn't. You fell back and let him get away.” He growled through gritted teeth.

“Victory is hollow without honor.” She repeated.

“AND WHY SHOULD THAT MATTER WHEN RITUM IS OUR PRIME FATHOMLESS!?”

In that instant, she recognized his voice. She recognized his voice and punched him dead in the nose. Her eyes were burning with outrage and she sensed onlookers gathering.

“Ritum. Does NOT. Rule over the other Fathomless. They are all on equal footing. We do not have a 'Prime' Fathomless. Each of them are what we should strive towards. We are taught to take their lessons to heart and apply them as often as we can in our daily lives.” She growled, stalking towards her detractor as he got to his feet.

“None of them should 'fall to the wayside' for Ritum's value. And if you believe that the others are so disposable, than you do not belong in Penthesilean civilization.” She hissed.

“Because if you believe that Ritum is the only Fathomless that matters, then you cast your family aside. Your home. Your honor. You cast aside any glory you have gained. You do not wish to protect you tribe. You have no pride. Your craft languishes. And there is no love in your life. There is no love in YOU.” She growled, scolding him like a stubborn child.

He was looking at her with wide eyes, looking like the thankless child he was acting like, who had finally gotten the smack on the wrist they deserved.

She said nothing for a while, glowering at him evilly before she turned her back. “If you still truly believe that Ritum is that Fathomless that matters, then leave. I do not welcome you.”

And then she left. She left for the forges to make her father a staff. Seeing Zenmendlar at the beginning stages of his fading reminded her of her father's condition.

She wasn't always going to be there help him stand tall, afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooo! This was a long one! Gunmar finally made an appearance! Glad to have him on board now! We'll be seeing a lot more of him shortly.  
> There was another scene I wanted to have here, but since it was getting so long already, it will be in the beginning of the next chapter, which will also end up being long. Even longer than this one!  
> Full disclosure, I teared up imagining, and writing Vossnell's and Zenmednlar's exchange about Ezanii.  
> Oh! And translation for the Penthesilean words used!  
> Ceomrzon - One who makes my heart soar (closest thing to a direct translation)  
> Ceomrane - Beloved  
> Theires-Adule - The Undying Lands (I should have put that in two chapters ago)
> 
> And as always, stay tuned, and tell me if you see spelling errors! I know they're in there, but I spent long enough on this that I'm having a hard time finding them.


	8. ...And Love to Know Heartbreak

There was a small respite as a call to arms went out to the tribes. Penthesileans that were unfit for battle were sent back, Zenmendlar among them. Most of the Selzari tribe came, letting those who were too old and too young fall under Zenmendlar's care when he arrived home. Vossnell watched Zindrozaan reunited with Dagadem, and she smiled softly before her face fell again and she pressed into Quellzana's side.

The taller Heiress sighed slightly and rubbed her arm. “War is war Vossnell. We'll mourn when we're finished.”

“I know that. That's not what's weighing on me.”

“Then what's eating at you?”

Vssnell let out another puff of air. The Lean'esil daull burned at the forefront of her mind, a wounded expression on his face as she turned to storm away.

“Was I too harsh with that daull?” She blurted out before she could stop herself, her voice hushed so only her _ceomrzon_ could hear her.

Quellzana laughed lightly and raised the Champion's chin to look at her. “For all the talk of you embodying Ritum, you remind me of Ceomrance every time you speak.”

Vossnell's face heated, and her _ceomrane_ smiled. “You're kind, and very passionate. You get angry because you care fiercely about those around you. You fight because you care. Mostly. I'm sure you're first few victories were because you were chasing pride and glory.”

Vossnell smiled slightly and chuckled. “I've always fought because I cared. I thought if I had enough prestige and earned enough respect, others would stop their whisperings about my father. About his reign. About his Exiled Bondmate... About his sickly whelp.”

She looked at her hands. The tone and composition so strange among the Selzari, the crystalline scars blending in with her glassy skin. When she had first been born, before her Da had been run out, she had been born sick. The tribe thought that her pale hide meant that she would surely die before she even opened her eyes.

Her father fought against that notion with tooth and nail. He loved her, and got incredibly attached to her, despite his advisers' warnings. Then when her Da had been run out, and she finally opened her eyes, the tribe swore she was cursed, and made calls for her to be cast out with her Da. He fought tooth and nail against that as well. Literally. He challenged those who called for her exile, and won.

“I fought because I cared about my father. I fought because he fought for me.” She said softly, the deep familial love in her clearly evident.

“But that doesn't answer my original question. Was I too harsh on him?”

“I don't think you were. You had every right to lash out at him like that when he tried to confront you while you were grieving.” The Gemloken heiress responded, but Vossnell's heart still flipped.

But her logical mind was settled, even as her heart twisted with uncertainty. She swallowed, and nodded slowly. Of course she had the right for telling him off for coming at her like that when her heart was bleeding. But she didn't have a right to dress him down as she had about the Fathomless. Even if he was wrong, they had no solid interpretation of the Fathomless' dynamics with each other. So maybe he _wasn't_ wrong. Maybe there was a-

She stopped herself from overthinking the scenario again. If he had wanted a theocratic discussion, he should have saved it for a better time.

“...Right. Thank you.” She replied, straining up toward her _ceomrzon_ 's face.

The crystal carver took the hint, and brought her face down to press against hers, their brows and noses touching as they shared breath. Vossnell sighed slightly with relief at the wordless comfort.

The the moment was broken by the loud clap of metallic wings, and Casdamona landed hastily, her dragonling breathing a bit heavily.

“Voss! I hate to interrupt this tender moment between you and Quellzana, but we have a huge problem!”

Vossnell stiffened and she reluctantly pulled away from her partner's embrace. “What's the problem?”

“Some of our people joined Gunmar's horde!”

Vossnell stopped dead in her tracks. So did every Penthesilean in hearing range of her frantic friend. Her jewels shrieked with surprise and outrage. Her heart beat in her ears as the Penthesileans around them burst with cries of betrayal.

The world crashed back a moment later and she winced at the sudden headache. She drew in a breath to steady herself. And then she let it out. Finally she looked at her overwhelmed friend and raised her voice above the din.

“Have you informed the Council?”

“Of course! They're calling a gathering soon!” Casdamona replied.

“We're making that gathering now. Get Aeonnessa and Dellen'staa. I'm speaking to the council.” She said at a normal tone, the shouts having died down.

With that, she marched away, parting a path in the restless crowds, who grew anxious as they took in the grimness of herself. Her mind raced back to the Lean'esil daull, and she growled lightly until she saw her father with the rest of the leaders. The Sliivrigg lord's pale gaze caught on her and he grimaced slightly. The other leaders noticed her, and only then did she spoke.

“'Soon'? Call a gathering 'soon'? We don't have that sort of time!” She called.

He father leaned heavily on his new staff and looked to the others. “I told you that postponing it was a bad idea.”

“We need time to gather words to tell our people!” The Gemloken queen growled, her voice thundering like her son's.

“We can't just be rushing into our decisions unlike some Penthesileans!” The lord added with a venomous hiss.

Vossnell ignored the jab, instead addressing the council as a whole.

“When would 'soon' have been? When our people faced their friends and family fighting for our enemy? When they found out about the betrayal on their own?” She asked, her chest heaving with outrage as she imagined the morale loss and the lives that would had been taken in their confusion and hurt.

Everyone on the council looked guilty, save for her father and Elder Sallavrag. The elder rasped in a breath and they focused on her.

“She is right. When did we become so secretive towards our own people?”

“But, we need to keep our people calm-” The Lean'esil leader began to say, their eyes shifting around.

“By withholding important information? Causing them to distrust us and question what we say?” Her father snapped, standing tall as he gripped his staff.

The council became silent again as they contemplated it. The Xicalgen matriarch kept her pale blue eyes on Vossnell as she pondered, her dragonling ruffling his feathers. Then the daull let out a puff of air.

“You and the rest of our heirs will tell the public if we fail to, wouldn't you?” She asked.

Vossnell's heart jumped, and she swallowed, but she nodded. “Yes. We will.”

“Then I suppose we have to have some semblance of parental guidance.” She laughed lightly, stepping around the rest of the council to stand by her father. She looked at the fading bull and smiled as she rested a hand on the one grasping his staff. “You raised a fine young dam.”

Her father smiled and nodded his thanks, as the rest of the council came around.

A short while later, in the center of their war camp, the tribes were gathered in front of the tribe leaders and their successors, the atmosphere thick and heavy, crackling with anxiousness.

Their host drew in a deep breath and looked over the ground. She let out a deep breath, and muster the will to speak.

“We have dire news my brothers and sisters in arms. A number of our kith and kin have betrayed us and joined Gunmar's horde.”

A deep gasp tore through the crowd, and many Penthesileans exchanged horrified looks. And then there were others that simply looked devastated and hurt. Others noticed, and upon connecting some dots, began snarling and insulting them for the mishap of being related to the traitors. Vossnell felt her heart twist and flutter at the same time, and she swallowed the roar of outrage.

They wouldn't talk her seriously if she constantly burst out of control, like a whelp throwing a tantrum. She took the time to calm herself and opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a shrill roar. She snapped her head to the right and saw Aeonnessa stepping out from beside her father.

“Enough! The families are not the responsible for the betrayers' actions! Do not scorn them for their loved ones' decisions! They do not deserve it and it does not serve a purpose!” She said, her soft voice carrying well in the dead silence, and Vossnell smiled as she stepped out next to her.

“She's right. We need to stop holding family accountable for a Penthesileans failings and shortcomings.” She projected, backing up her friend's veiled plead as the other heirs came to stand by them.

She stepped down from their raised platform and began walking through the crowd, to a couple that was snarled at for their child's choice. They flinched as she approached them, and she felt her heart break a small bit.

“How did you raise your child?” She asked softly.

The bull and daull looked at each other and them back to her. “Not like this...” The bull rasped as he held his Bondmate.

“And you?” She asked as she turned to a dam. “How did your family act? Do you think it was something you did?”

“I - I don't know! Maybe! He stopped speaking to me about three days ago!” She cried, in near hysterics, her face stained with deeper blue trails.

Vossnell put a reassuring hand on her shoulder as the other dam put her face in her hands, shaking as she tried to contain her anguish.

Her hand fell down her arm as she looked around. “Did _any_ of you think your relation would do this?”

There was a weak word of declination, overcome with soft sobs and sniffles, and soft questions about how they would break this news to a mate, a child, elderly parents, and other such things. Vossnell's heart bled for them, and anger stoked inside. How dare they do this to their families? Their friends?

How dare they cause such an all consuming rift? Who gave them the right to sow such pain among their people?

Who did they think they were serving ties so brutally and suddenly?

Her jewels whispered of pain and confusion, and she recognized it as what the Penthesileans around her were feeling.

“What they have done is not fair to you.” She announced, moving back to the raised platform.

“You did not deserve the pain this sundering has caused, and you do not bear their dishonor. That punishment is theirs. They should be _ashamed_ for making you hurt like this, for turning their back on you.” She stopped before the platform, standing on the same ground as her people.

A voice rose from the crowd, a young daull stepping out. “Don't you mean the Fathomless?” They asked in a watery voice.

She focused on them, and she felt her eyes soften as she shook her head slightly. “No. They have certainly spit on the Fathomless' teachings, Trilonelakin and Tepure chief among them, but they turned their backs on _you_. Not the Fathomless. You are what they have abandoned and left behind. And they have shamed themselves for doing so.” She assured in a soft, but fierce voice.

She heard sniffled and muffled sobs from the crowd, and she blinked the mist from the eyes.

“The dishonor lies in the act of leave behind the people they loved, and who loved them in return. And for them they must pay the penance.” She swore fervently, stepping through the crowd again and going to the forest.

“Vossnell! What are you doing?!” She heard her father call.

“To take care of something.” She called back, listening to an odd stirring in the air, thumping like the wings of the Xicalgen's charges, but without the distinct metallic singing.

“What do you mean-!”

“Listen.”

The Penthesilean nation fell quiet and strained their ears to try and pinpoint what it was she was hearing. Then she heard a murmur sweep through the crowd.

She turned and smiled at her father, friends, and _ceomrane_. “I'll be back soon.”

They looked uneasy, but they let her leave. Once she was far enough from the camp, and deep in the forest, she drew her blades and waited a moment.

The stalkling screeched and swept at her, knocking her into a clearing of sunlight as she grappled on. For a moment, she saw its eyes widen, probably at the fact that she wasn't turning to stone, and she only smiled viciously as she skewered the creature on her blades, slicing upwards as she tore herself from it's deadly embrace.

She watched it turn to cold gray, and she slammed her tail into it, catching its head as it fell. She carefully set it down, and used her own tail as a writing surface for a note. She folded it and put the stalking's head under her arm as she originated herself. Scouts told them of the location of Gunmar's camp, so she set out that way.

Vossnell hesitated as she approached the perimeter of his camp, but she steeled herself and crept onward. She was tense as she wandered through the loose arrangement of tents, and she stopped herself from growling as she caught sight of the traitors sleeping away in the shade that the tents provided. She crept onward still, looking for the largest tent, which no doubt belonged to their warlord. The sun crept through the sky as she did through the forest of tents. She just hoped she be able to recall her path.

But finally, as the sun passed its zenith, she spotted the tent she was looking for. She put the note in the stalking's open mouth and set it on the ground, just far enough from the tent that he would see it when he first emerged, but close enough to make it obvious who it was for.

She wanted to sigh with relief, but kept the air in her lungs. She was only half way done. She still needed to get out. But it was a much quicker job, and she returned to the camp as the sun sank to the horizon.

She was greeted by her loved ones who expressed relief at her unscathed return, and she smiled tiredly and requested time to sleep for a while. They can yell at her from her upcoming act of bravado when next she walked among the land of the waking.

 

“You're going to _what_!?” Quellzana shouted as Vossnell put on a chest plate.

“Face the traitors and take their braids.” She repeated, making the final adjustments.

“Vossnell, please! There are seventy-five of them, at least! This is a folly!” Her father cried.

“So it might be. But I've already issued the challenge, and I can't back out now. Besides, I'm Undefeated, remember?” She hummed, sitting down and armoring her tail with spiked plates.

“At least let one of us come with you!” Casdamona pleaded.

“No. I said it would be me against the betrayers. I plan to honor the terms.”

“Vossnell, you'll get yourself killed!” Aeonnessa interjected.

“I won't, because that would mean I wouldn't be able to come back to any of you.” She soothed, looking over her friends letting her gaze linger with her father and _ceomrzon_.

She smiled at them and stood up as she latched her scabbards to her belt. They were silent, unsure what to say to her last statement, unsure how to beg her to stay without scorning her sentiment and purpose. She smiled one last time and left before they could stop her, racing to where she would be meeting those traitors for battle.

She stopped and let herself control her breathing, before calmly stepping through the undergrowth and emerging beneath the stars, pinks fading in the west. She took a breath as she watched the edges of the clearing, finally focusing on movement across from her, the traitors emerging from the tree line.

She growled lowly as she spotted the Lean'seli daull that had been haunting her. He smirked at her and stepped out in front of the others, apparently a ringleader. She huffed and perked her ears regardless of his arrogance.

"So eager to race to your death, youngling?" He mocked.

She only glared at him and steeled herself against her pounding rage. She ignored his words as she spoke. "You've all abandoned your people, and I intend to strike you down."

"I thought we weren't welcome if we believed in a hierarchy among the Fathomless." He rebuked, still offended by her words.

"I do not stand what I said in a time of grief and shock. If you had wanted a theocratic discussion, we could have worked something out. Instead, you threw a temper tantrum and joined an enemy that had no basis to tell you that your opinions were wrong." She snarled, twisting her hands into gnarled claws with her anger.

"You left your families without any warning, and broke their hearts, knowing full well that they would also revive the brunt of the dishonor you have brought among yourselves! You should be _ashamed_ for leaving them like that! You left them to explain to their children, your brothers and sisters, your parents, and your mate why you joined our enemy's horde. How dare you do that to them. How _dare_ you inflict such a heavy burden unto their shoulders!" She snarled, drawing her swords as she saw the daull before her fall into a ready stance.

She looked among the betrayers and saw uncertainty flash on their faces, but the daull took her attention as he rushed to close the distance with a primal growl. She watched him, and hummed, dodging to the left as she drew one of her blades. She knocked his head back and grabbed his braids, slicing though them with ease.

A pained sound left the daull as he fell back and stared at the ropes of fur in her hand. His eyes followed them as she wrapped a piece of twine around them and stuffed them into a bag at her hip. His eyes then slid up to her face, a certain sort of devastation on his face as he realized the full weight of his pending punishment.

"May your time in Guldinx-Adule be swift." She sighed before she cut him down and into stone.

Her eyes lifted up to the other traitors and she growled lowly in warning. Their faces had blanched at the display, and she stepped around the Lean'esil. "Well? Will you face your punishment as a Penthesilean, or as a coward?"

A thunderous chorus of growls was her response, and she readied herself for a long fight.

They charged at her, and she at them, and the struggle was intense, and she was nearly felled one more than one occasion. She could barely keep track of who she faced, and who she felled, mostly because her red rage had set in, making the night darker, and their eyes glow brightly. Each burst of pain and every inflicted malady only fueled her battle rage, and she almost forgot to sever their braids before she felled them. Her body pulsed with pain, her head pounded with fury, and her jewels shrieked of fear and dread. She very nearly blacked out.

But eventually, _finally_ , the clash of weapons and the battle cries - both shrill and deep - faded away to silence, the fauna scared off, and she stood in the center of the clearing, panting. The sky was brightening, and she could hardly see straight, her vision still stained with red. She heard a branch break, and her head snapped around for all four eyes to pin the strange troll into place. They were troll like, but at the same time, they weren't. She knew the word that would be applied to them, what was it...

Ah, yes.

Changeling.

One of Gunmar's underlings.

She snarled, and their stupor was broken, turning their back to her and fleeing. Immediately she ran after them, dropping to all fours once she sheathed her swords. They pounded through the undergrowth in front of her like a terrified ape, and she growled as she chased them. But then she saw them burst out of the shade of the canopy into the morning sun, and she skidded to a halt, just before the shade ended.

They quickly whirled around and backed away from her with wide terrified eyes, and she snarled, wishing she could snap their neck. Then she stopped and checked inside herself. She had achieved her goal of felling the betrayers. She had no more need of death... The red leaked from her vision and she stood up right, pensively watching the changeling now.

Their chest was heaving, even though they 'knew' themself safe from her wrath. She offered them a vicious smile, and left back towards her people's war camp. Her ear swiveled back as she heard them fall over themselves with relief.

When she returned to camp, the air was grim, though relieved.

Once again, she stopped short of the raised platform, and turned to the gathered crowd. She removed the heavy bag from her hip, and opened it wide before she projected her voice. "Those who were wronged, come claim your loved one's braids."

The air was solemn as they proceeded with the arrangement, and finally, she was left with one last set of braids. She recognized them, and her breath caught slightly. She turned to Dellen'staa and his parent, holding up the braids. "Does he have any family for these to be given to?"

Her friend only shook his head sadly, and she looked down to the thick ropes of hair again. "No one? No mate? No child?"

"Everyone with that family bead got swallowed by a sand wyrm." Dellen'staa informed sadly.

Vossnell stared at the braids, the sandy color of the strands, and richness of his achievement braid. Her eyes slid to the brazier to her right, filled with fresh oil and wood. She looked back to the duall's braid, and sighed deeply. She dropped the bag, and went to the brazier, scrapping her still armored tail over the rim to ignite it.

She watched the fire spring to life, and looked at the braids one last time. Then she tossed them into the fire, and knelt down in front of it to give a prayer of passage. The air would have been deafeningly silent if it weren't for her murmuring and the crackle of the fire. Soon she finished the prayer and rose to her feet again.

"Why?" A voice called out.

She turned and saw the young duall from a few days earlier. "Why did you do that?"

"Because he can't present his braids to the Fathomless as an apology if he doesn't have them." She replied softly. "Besides, I don't think it wouldn't be fair for him to never be able to see his family again."

"But does he deserve it?" The blue dam asked, stepping forward.

"It's not a matter of deserving. It's a matter of forgiving. He was misguided, and he made a few bad decisions. They were _really_ bad decisions, but I believe - I hope - that they were only mistakes." Vossnell hummed, watching the metal melt away.

"And if we can't forgive them?" She continued.

Vossnell looked at them and tilted her head. "Can you _never_ forgive them?"

The Gemloken dam looked startled. "What?"

"Will you never be able to forgive them? Because I cannot place the blame on you when the wound of betrayal is still so fresh."

"I-I don't know. But I can't right now, I just.."

"Then that's okay. It's not my place to ask for forgiveness on their behalf. All I can ask of all of you is to not let them suffer in Guldinx-Adule for more than a lifetime." She said softly, understanding of their dilemma. "I'm sure they would want to apologize to you and others in Theires-Adule, and they won't have that chance if they cannot present their braids to the Fathomless."

Tears filled the daull's and dam's eyes, and she stepped forward to rest a hand on each their shoulders. "You do not have to forgive at this very instant. You can hold onto their braids, and burn them when you are ready to do so."

She made sure her voice was still soft while it projected through the camp center. She squeezed their shoulders and turned away, ready to rest and heal.

 

Not even three days later, there was another battle with Gunmar and his horde. He held the stalkling's head in his hands, glaring at it then at her. She gave him a vicious smile, and bowed mockingly at the waist, never breaking the heated eye contact with him as she did so. He snarled and threw the head across the pending battle field. It landed in front of her, and she crushed it under foot as she charge to do battle with him once again.

The clash lasted until sunrise and they reluctantly withdrew, still itching for more. The battle lasted three more nights, with the Penthesilean's pushing the Gumm-Gumms back in the end. Some lives were lost on their side, and they had a brief mourning period to give their dead their prayers and to give the families some closure.

Vossnell watched sadly, spending time at her father's side and speaking softly of happier times with him. They avoided the topics of her Da, and her first few weeks of life. They laughed a bit over her blunders as a child, like the time she got herself stuck high in a tree chasing a small bird. It was too high for her father to climb, since he was far too large and heavy, so they had one of the older whelps, close to their Rite of Passage get her down.

She hadn't wanted to climb trees for the next five years.

She leaned into her father's side and sighed happily through her nose. His arm rested over her shoulders and she thought of something.

“Nothing's going to be the same after this, is it?”

“No, _harenevam_ , it won't. Too many of us will be missing. The tribe won't feel the same when we return. The magic will be different.” He explained sadly.

Silence filled the spaces between words, and she remained by her father's side. She hadn't been spending enough time with him as of late.

“Father? What was Da like?”

Zebdagren jolted slightly and he snapped is gaze to her, making her face heat. “Sin-since I never got to know him, what was he like?”

His face softened, and he looked over the camp. “...He was passionate. He didn't like the unfairness of one's reputation being tarnished by associating with another individual. He would have been frothing at the mouth at the flack we get for his relation to him.” He chuckled fondly, his eyes bright as he remembered things long past.

“He cared very much. Too much maybe. He was the healer of our tribe, and he ways always looking for ways to help others. It was this fierce kindness that drew me to him in the first place. And if he cared too much about people he didn't know, then he would have razed the world to ash for those he loved.”

He turned to her and took her hands in both of his, his staff resting in the crook of his elbow. “He loved you Vossnell. He loved both of us very much, and it pains me that he never got to see you grow into the fine dam you are today.”

Her jewels sang of love and sorrow, and she squeezed her father's hands as a comfort.

“How... How did he get Exiled?”

Pain was added to her father's song of emotions and he sighed. “While caring was his greatest strength, it was also his downfall. He cared so much about you, that when you wouldn't open your eyes for a over a month, he went and made a deal with a dark being to ensure your life.”

Her father's voice cracked slightly at the next part. “When this was discovered, he was scorned and driven out. His braids were taken, and they drove him off into the plains.” Her father's voice was watery now, and she slid closer to hug her father.

“I felt him pass on within the day...” He rasped, drops of moisture hitting the top of her head.

His breathing labored as he remembered the pain of his loss, and her heart ached fiercely as he held her tighter. “Then... Then you opened your eyes.”

He pulled away and gently cupped her face, rubbing her carvings with his thumb. “Sometimes, I think his compassion transferred over to you instead of being lost to Guldinx-Adule. You burn so much like he did.”

She pressed into her father's touch and smiled softly. “You won't have to worry about me leaving like that.”

“I know Vossnell, I know.” he smiled, pressing his forehead to hers.

She spent more time with her father, basking in comfortable silence before she stood and explained that she was going to go find Quellzana. Her father smiled in understanding and nodded, closing his eyes and meditating as she left.

She looked through out the entire camp before she turned her eyes to the Gemloken city, daunted by its size. She didn't even know where to begin looking there. But she knew someone who did, so she turned and went on to located Benevix.

Once she finally caught sight of the Gemloken bull, she called out. “Hey! Benevix! Where's Quell?”

He turned from his conversation and waved at her with a smile. “She's in our crystal chamber, scrying the future.”

“And where is your crystal camber?” She huffed, looking back to the city.

He rested a hand on her shoulder and pointed to the top of their monolithic city. She followed his finger and blinked at the sight of the faintly glowing crystal tip of their city. “Right up there. I think you might just want to wait for her.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking - “ Suddenly the crystals flashed brightly, glowing like a beacon for a moment before it went dark.

She felt Benevix still and stiffen. She looked at him and blinked at the surprised expression on his face. But there was a twinge of fear as well.

“The chamber's never done that before... At least not while I've been alive.”

“What does the flare mean?”

“I have no idea. That's what scares me.”

She tensed and shifted away. “I think I'm going to go wait for Quellzana.”

She ducked away from his arm and walked away, her tail flicking as anxiety filled her. Maybe this war was making her paranoid, but her jewels still sang of fear and wariness. But she shook her head and waited near the camp road that lead to the city.

Soon enough she saw Quellzna approaching, and seemingly lost in thought. Then she looked up and spotted her. Her sunset eyes widened, and suddenly she was running over, making Vossnell even more anxious.

She was suddenly picked up in a tight hug by her _ceomrzon_ , and she could hardly catch what the other heiress was saying.

“I forgive you.”

“What?” She deadpanned in a bit of a high voice. She was very confused.

Quellzana put her feet back on the ground and looked deeply into her eyes. “Whatever happens, I'll always forgive you.”

Vossnell's heart fluttered at the heartfelt sincerity of her words, even as her confusion grew. So she smiled and and touched her _ceomrane_ 's cheek. “Thank you, Quell.”

“I love you, Voss.” She replied, leaning into the touch.

“I love you too.” She replied, stepping closer and pressed her face to her jaw line, nuzzling her neck.

 

After spending a healthy amount of time with her friend's and loved ones, she left on a patrol of their perimeters, making sure that their enemy was approaching the location of their camp.

Her jewels were strangely silent as she spoke with the other members of the patrol, tense and alert, but still laughing lightly with the other Penthesileans.

Then something rolled in their path, and chaos broke loose. Smoke erupted from all directions, small pellets hitting their skin and burst into vapor. Vossnell hissed and screw her eyes shut, rubbing them as she heard the others cries of surprise. Something pricked her arm as the smoke cleared, and suddenly her world was tilting as she opened her eyes.

Vossnell swayed, and nearly stumbled over her feet as she took a step forward. Something pressed the front of her legs, and then wrapped around them, and she pitched forward like a felled tree. She hit the ground with a dull thud, and she heard the other patrol member's cries of surprise as if though a long tunnel.

Their cries turned to rage, and she heard the clashing of metal before her vision faded to black.

When next she woke, she was being dragged by two Gumm-Gumms. Her head ached and she didn't even have time to snarl before she was pricked again, and she faded out of consciousness.

When she awoke once again, she was in a cage, and Gunmar was watching her with a pleased smirk. She snarled and strained against the chains that wrapped around her wrists. A link broke and she slammed herself against the door. Her cage only rocked, but her sudden display of aggression still made the soldiers back away from the metal contraption.

The glowing bull laughed in amusement. “Still fighting are you?”

She broke the other chain and slammed into the cage again, glaring at him as she gripped the bars. “To the last.” She snarled.

“Such strong will! Let's see how long it will take to break your fighter's spirit.” He said as he stepped closer.

She bared her teeth at him and slashed at him through the bars. She growled as he grabbed it and yanked so that she was pressed into the bars with a painful strain on her arm.

“It's hardly wise to attack one who has all the cards.”

“You? Hardly.” She rebuked, breaking her arm out of his hold and slashing along the scar he had over his right eye.

He stumbled back with a cry of surprise and pain. His hand flew up to cover it and he glared at her viciously. Her tail lashed and she smirked at him, pulling her limb back into the cage. Then, for some unknown reason, he smirked and turned away.

“This will be amusing.” He hummed, before looking at a more decorated Gumm-Gumm. “Make preparations, if she wishes to 'fight to the last' then who are we to deny her?”

The solider ran off at his warlord's words and she growled as he looked at her over her shoulder. “This war will end with you, Vossnell.”

Then he left, and left her to ponder his words. Was he planning to fight her to the death?

That wouldn't work. They were too evenly matched. They would be locked in combat until one of them fell from exhaustion.

She growled uselessly in frustration as she could not think of anything else. Unless there was going to be some sort of magic involved, he was definitely aiming for her death. She didn't know what he had at his disposal, since their Xicalgen scouts were shot at every time they tried to fly over the camp.

But she needed her strength, so she leaned into one of the corners of her cage and slid into a sitting position and closed her eyes to sleep.

Her slumber was short and uncomfortable, and all too soon, she was pulled out of her containment, bound in chains and lead through a small section of their camp. She strained against them and she snarled at Gumm-Gumms who looked at her too long, her eyes practically spitting sparks of rage.

Then she was shoved into a makeshift arena, where she barely had to to see Gunmar spectating from an ostentatious chair before she was attacked by something covered in scales.

Immediately she rolled back to avoid its snapping jaws, and to get a good look at it. Once she did, she instantly grew wary

It was a juvenile ground drake.

She perked her ears as she and the young beast circled each other. Beyond the makeshift walls, she head the constant shifting of chains, and muffled growls. Its parents were close, so they would no doubt hear their child's death cries and fly into a unstoppable rage.

As she made an other circuit around the young drake, she moved her upper set of eyes to glare at him as she snarled. The bull merely smirked at her.

“Well? Will you fight?”

“You're vile!” She retorted, twirling away from a snap of the youngling's jaws.

But still, her hands went to where she usually kept her scabbards and she growled as they were met with nothing.

“This would be a trite easier if I had my weapons.” She growled over her shoulder, watching the drakling.

She heard a clatter behind her, and she took a step back, watching her opponent take a step forward. Then she whirled around and darted for her blades and dodged out of the way of snatching claws.

She kicked it's skull, watching its yelp degenerate into a heartbreaking whine. The rattles grew louder at this, the growls now barely contained roars.

Her heart twinged at what she was about to do to this poor creature, but she steeled herself against the regret and brought her blades down on it.

She saw primordial fear flash in the youngling's eyes, and her heart tore a bit as it called desperately for its parents, just before her sword sliced through its throat for a quick death.

Earshattering roars of anguish rang through the air, and her jewels amplified it by tenfold, telling her of the pain the two adult drakes felt over their child's demise. She saw Gunmar lean forward, watching her with an look steeped in anticipation.

Instantly her heart hardened against the unfortunate creatures' plights as she recalled his words. He wanted to break her will. She didn't want to know what would happen if she let herself break. The tyrant narrowed his eye at her and leaned back in his throne - such a lavish furnishing could be nothing else – and she turned her attention to the fully grown and resplendent drakes that were released into the arena.

The larger of the two was certainly the female, snarling at her and glaring with blue green eyes. Her mate was smaller, bearing copper scales that transition to a bright red, and looking at her with sickening green eyes that burned with an animalistic hatred.

He was the first to lunge at her, shrieking with rage. She dropped her swords and grappled his jaws to keep them from clamping down on her.

He forced her to the ground, and she had trouble keeping his jaws open. She swallowed as she stared down his throat and blanched when she saw it begin to glow orange. She hastily rolled away, earning cuts on her palms, as he razed the ground where she had been crouched just a moment earlier.

The stream of flame stopped, and she rolled under him as he tried to pounce on her. She hastily grabbed her swords, and darted away before the female's paws could crush her. The male darted under his mate's bulk, and clawed her across the back. She cried out in pain and rolled away from him, hissing as she wondered in the Sirens had felt that blow as well. He rushed at her again, and she raised his sword as he went to land on her.

Her blade pierced right between his eyes, and they both slid from his momentum. The female let out a mourning keen, darting over as Vossnell hastily pulled out her sword and scrambled a fair distance away.

Vossnell watched as she nudged her mate's body, making low whines in her throat. A long, low whine left her throat as she finally realized her mate was dead, and then a growl rumbled trough the silence as she turned towards Vossnell.

Vossnell swallowed and flicked the blood off her right blade, readying for the last bit of the fight as her heart ached. She spared a discreet glance over her shoulder the female began stalking towards her. She stopped the smirk when she saw Gunmar almost precisely behind her.

Then she looked towards the female and steeled herself again.

The turquoise drake screeched and ran at her, and Vossnell waited a moment before doing the same. She dodge to the left of her snapping jaws, and jumped up onto her shoulder, and then onto her neck.

The drake reared as she roared in frustration, and was cut off as Vossnell plunged her blades into her neck, and scissored them through her flesh, tearing open the sides of her throat.

As her life left her, she began to topple forward. Vossnell yanked her swords out, and jumped off the drake as she fell, going straight for Gunmar.

She watched his eye widen, and her own widened as she watched his blade materialize from his arm.

But their weapons clashed and she pushed him and his throw back as she snarled. He grit his teeth and braced his other hand against the back of his blade to counter her pushing strength. He pushed her back, and a chain wrapped around one of her arms. She growled and sfited, only for one to wrap around her opposite foot. She snarled and looked at Gunmar again as they tugged on the chains. Her tail swept over the edge of the arena, and she didn't even think about what to do next.

She swung the restrained arm so that the chain hit Gunmar, and she leapt back into the arena, taking the tyrant and the chain handlers with her.

Vossnell shook off the chain around her foot somewhat easily, and she smashed the one retraining her arm into the ground twice, and then into the hard shoulder of the female drake, and then she swung them towards Gunmar.

It was no surprise to her that he sliced them clean through without a care, but still she snarled. She made to attack him again, but more chains wrapped around her, and three darts pierced her hide.

She swayed in place, and growled weakly at Gunmar as she passed out once again.

 

She awoke in her cage again, sore and groggy. Her tunic had been mended, and she felt her skin crawl at the fact. But now she knew the methods he was going to use against her. Or rather what he planned to pit against her.

Her heart. He was planning on breaking her by appealing to her compassion and empathy. Too bad those things were conditional. He would have to try harder than that.

Each night for seven cycles Gunmar came to her cage, saying nothing and merely observing her glare at him. Her tail twitched and she growled low in her throat every time he took a step closer. She watched his eye drift from her face to her Siren jewels, and then to the scars they were visible to him.

And on the final night, he focused on her braids, stepping as close to the cage as he dared to study the beads decorating them. He nodded to himself and left without another word.

Once he was far away, she shuddered. She preferred a raging Gunmar to a contemplative one any day. That had felt all sorts of unnatural. She rubbed her arms and thought of her loved ones, reaching up and tracing each of the beads that were given to her by them.

Her Family bead, the Friendships beads on her personal braid, and she lingered longest at her Courtship bead. What had Quellzana meant when she said she would always forgive her?

Forgive her for not being there to fight? That was hardly her fault in the first place. Forgive her what she had done in that lousy arena? That was partially her fault, but that was a fight or perish situation. Vossnell shook her head. What had she meant?

She curled up and sighed heavily, shaking her head to get the fringe of fur out of her eyes.

No use puzzling over vague words.

She blearily blinked her eyes a few times, and suddenly the next night had come. Her cage opened and chains were used to lasso around her limbs and body while she struggled. Then a large Gumm-Gumm lassoed her neck and yanked her to the ground.

She was dragged back to the makeshift arena and she growled lowly as she thought of what she would have to face this time. She didn't want to murder another family of innocent creatures.

She was tossed in the arena hastily as her chains were taken off, and her swords were thrown in after her. She glowered up at Gunmar as she put them on her hips.

“And what must I face this night, o' gracious tyrant?” She remarked snidely, disdain dripping from her words like serpent's venom.

He chuckled darkly and she tensed, baring her teeth at him.

“At ease, Champion! Your fight isn't with me. It's with _her_.”

She turned as she heard a grate open and her heart fell out of her chest as she gasped deeply.

Quellzana was walking out of the darkness, her sunset eyes washed out with an unnaturally pale blue. Her hooves dragged on the ground slightly, making an eerie sound as it dragged across stones and pebbles. Her war axes hung loosely in her hands, swinging with each shambling step she took.

“ _Ceomrzon_?” She breathed, her mind refusing to comprehend what stood before her.

Outrange filled her mind and heart, and she whirled around to face Gunmar.

“You COWARD!” She roared.

He grinned sadistically. “I would keep my eye on my opponent.” He said, just before she screamed as she was struck across the back, right across her Bargain marks.

She stumbled away and looked at her _ceomrane_. The Gemloken heiress had her axes in a ready position, but her eyes were flat, emotionless. Hooded as if a daze.

“ _ **Ceomrane**_ **, please. Fight this enchantment**.” She pleaded in their language, refusing to let the sadistic spectators listen to her beg.

Quellzana only snorted out a huff of air and charged at her, bring her axes down on her. She blocked the blow and pressed her back. “ **Quellzana, please. Please don't make me do this**...”

The crystal carver growled and dropped one of her axes to punch her across the face. Vossnell stumbled away, her heart tearing itself from her chest as she looked at the seer.

Then the dull expression became a smirk that didn't fit on her face, and the Gunmar's voice came from her throat, his words echoing from two different places.

“I meant what I said, Vossnell. This war will end with you, one way or another.”

Vossnell's world slowed and she started to breath heavily as she realized what had happened. Her vision became misty, but she blinked it away to glare at Gunmar. “You took her mind!”

“Indeed. Now will you stand by your word and fight?” He grinned, sadistic pleasure dancing in his eye.

She turned her gaze back to her _ceomrane_. Would she? Would she still fight?

Her face hardened and she glared at the tyrant again. “This isn't my _ceomrzon_ I'm fighting. Not anymore.”

And with that, she turned to Quellzana and charged at her. Their weapons clashed, and their battle began in earnest.

She blocked out the cheers. She blocked out the maniacal laughter. She blocked out her own heart. She willed her battle rage to set in, so she wouldn't have to think about her actions. About the sin she was about to commit.

She didn't know how long their battle lasted, nor she did she care to know. Knowing would only tell her how long she had been trying to kill Quellzana.

No.

She wasn't Quellzana anymore. She was just a husk that Gunmar was using to break her.

At least, that's what she told herself. She didn't want to hurt her, but she would have to if they were to live.

But her rage got the best of her, and her _ceomrane_. She knocked the Gemloken princess back, and raised her blades above her head, intent on ending this fight with little pain for the daull.

Then, just before her blades connected with Quellzana's chest, the Gemloken's eyes returned to normal. They widened and a single word left her lips before her life was taken. “Vossnell -!”

The red washed away immediately and she stumbled backward, away from her _ceomrane_ 's body. Her hands flew to cover her mouth and tears filled her vision. The last thing Quellzana had saw was her Champion and _ceomrzon_ bringing her blades down upon her in a murderous rage. What had she been thinking in the split second before she had been whisked away to Theires-Adule?

She barely heard Gunmar move over her anguish. But she just barely heard him speak. “At last, her will is broken.”

Her fury came back tenfold, and she whirled around, punching him across the face with a cry of rage. He was sent flying across the arena, and she chased after him.

But she was not in her right of mind, so the next punch she swung was caught with ease. So was the next, so she tried to push him back. But he dug his claws into her hand.

And just as suddenly as her fire ignited and went out of control, it was extinguished and she fell to her knees. Tears fell down her face, and she spoke in a voice that was just as broken as she was.

“Do as you will...” She rasped, hanging her head.

She fully expected him to kill her, and she thought her expectation met when she saw the blue glow as he summoned his weapon. Then she felt it's presence near her head, and she ran though her death prayers in her head.

Then a strange sensation filled her head and caressed her skin, and she weakly fought against it, terror of the unknown filling her very soul. Phantom chains wrapped around her and pulled her into the dark, all while she internally screamed. She didn't have the energy to do anything else.

Then it stopped and she opened her eyes. She panicked as she looked through a blue film, and shuddered as she felt Gunmar raised her head and wipe away the tears that lingered.

He was clearly pleased with himself, grinning widely as he encouraged her to stand. He nodded his head to the side, and she followed the silent order, not matter how much she screamed at herself not to.

She pulled her blades from her _ceomrane_ 's body, and turned to Gunmar again. Her body leaned down, and she shivered as he arranged her fur to hide her eyes.

She barely saw him smile at her through her curtain of fur, but she defintely heard him. “Now go end this war for us. Do this, and you'll be free to go.”

She left the arena, walked though the Gumm-Gumm camp unimpeded, wandered through the forest, and finally came to the war camp where her people resided.

Dread filled her heart. She didn't like where this was going. Her people parted, giving her a clear path towards the raised platform where the tribe leaders and her fellow successors stood.

“Vossnell! There you are! What happened?” Her father cried, leaning on his staff as he tried to stand straight.

She saw his concern, and relief, happy tears lining his eyes with silver. Her body said nothing while she screamed.

_'No! No, Father! Get away from me! I don't want to hurt you! Please! PLEASE, GET AWAY. DON'T LET ME HURT YOU LIKE I HURT QUELLZANA!'_

Of course, her mental cries went unheard, and her body tightened her grip on her swords.

“Vossnell?” her father asked, stepping closer.

Steel flashed and Vossnell _screamed_.

Her father turned to stone, and her body turned it's attention to the other leaders.

The Matriarch's dragonling gave a cry and flew away with a mournful call.

The Lord's body became as sharp as his tongue had been in life.

The Queen fell and she swore the city's foundations shook.

The Dynast faded into sandstone, so reminiscent of their homeland.

And Elder Sallavrag fell with them.

And as soon as her task was done, Gunmar released his hold on her mind. Tears sprang forward and immediately fell, her entire being quailing under the magnitude of what she had done.

“TRAITOR!” She heard Zindrozaan roar.

She spun around, desperation tinging her voice. “Zindrozaan! Please wai-AAGH!”

She fell as his blade cut her face, unprepared for the attack as she was. Fur fell to the ground, and she turned her face back to the Former Champion, pain twisted in face as her upper left eye closed from the blow.

He was glaring at her, but then he saw something and gasped, looking unsure for a moment, even as the grip on his weapon tightened.

Her fight of flight response kicked in, and she grabbed the swords she dropped and slashed them up and across his torso.

She heard Dagadem let out a pained wail, and she looked out among the crowd, invisible tears falling down her glassy face, horror, fear and pain warring for dominance.

She found her friends and whatever remained of her heart was torn from her chest.

Benevix was numb, staring at his mother as tears fell, Aeonnessa hiding her face in his side.

Dellen'staa had fallen to his hands and knees, his head bowed as his shoulders shook.

And Casdamona was looking at her with pure hatred as she cradled her mother's mourning dragonling.

Vossnell took a step back and felt her back run into one of the bodies behind her. Her flight response triggered, and she darted off the platform, racing away and avoiding attempts to catch her, breaking things to make obstacles for her pursuers.

It was a long, harrowing chase, and she didn't realize they had stop coming after her at until she was at the edge of the camp. She ran for far longer than that.

Eventually, when she could run no more, she collapsed by a stream, sobs wracking her body. Her chest ached and her throat quickly became raw as she hid her face in her hands. She curled in on herself to stop the wails of despair that so desperately wanted to leave her throat.

She didn't know how long she stayed like that. The cool dusk faded to a cool morning, the morning, into a hot afternoon, and then the cool of night returned. But she was numb. She couldn't feel the warmth of the sun like she used to. Maybe she didn't deserve to.

She no longer deserved to be a Penthesilean afterall.

The thought stuck a sensitive chord deep in her, one that was still fresh with loss, and she finally uncurled herself. She looked into the stream and watched her braids sway. Her eyes focused on the beads given to her by her loved ones, and a painful sob wrenched itself from her chest, she grabbed a hold of her left braids and produced a skinning knife from her belt, holding its blade to the braided strands above her hand.

She braced herself and squeezed her eyes shut, but her body wouldn't move. She took several shudder breathes and tried again, but her body froze every time she felt the sharp edge touch her hair.

She couldn't do it.

She didn't have the right to remove her own braids. It felt wrong of her to do it when she had spit on everything that made up Penthseailean culture. But she deserved to have her braids removed as quickly as possible.

Her friends needed to throw them into a bottomless chasm and kill her so she could repent in Guldinx-Adule for all eternity.

But she couldn't do it herself. She neither had the spine, or the authority to do it.

So she screamed with frustration at her dilemma and punched the stream. Her reflection distorted, and then the water shifted around her hand, only disturbed by its own direction and the tears falling from her eyes.

Her chest heaved and she could only ponder what her father and the rest of the council had been thinking before she had killed them. Her friends hated her. They had to. She wouldn't accept it if they didn't. She deserved their scorn.

She looked in the direction she came from and swallowed thickly. She should go back to face her punishment. She really should. But the young whelp in her that had never really gone away shied away from the idea, scared and crying silently.

She wasn't brave enough to go back. She was scared that they would rip her apart, slowly, limb from limb. It was what she deserved after all.

So where she could she go? She thought briefly of the one outside tribe that Quellzanna had told her about, how the Gemloken tribe befriended them.

No. they would probably turn her in to their allies, once they learned that she was the reason behind the queen's death.

She could live as a hermit. But she quickly scratched off that possibility. Violently, and completely blotted out. She would go insane with the whispers of her jewels and the thoughts of her dead. Besides, Penthesileans were too social to ever become totally isolated.

Maybe she could go back to... Her heart and soul violently rejected the notion she was proposing to herself. She refused to join that coward and his horde. It went against everything she believed in.

But If she was too scared of a violent death, and too afraid to live alone with herself, when what should she do?

She had already turned her back on her people at his behest, so she might as well make it official. The thought filled her mouth with a vile taste.

But still, she stood up and wearily orientated herself before she set out to Gunmar's camp, her tail dragging on the ground.

Soon, through her somewhat hapless wanderings, she came into his camp. All activity stop as she felt the weight of their stares crawl along her back. She saw Gunmar speaking with someone, only to turn around at the sudden silence.

“What are you doing here? I said you were free to go.” He reminded, though he looked too pleased at her presence to mean what he said.

“I have nowhere else _to_ go.” She replied.

“Then I think you can find a place here.” He hummed, gesturing around.

She knew she could. That's what scared her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! Cutting it a bit close here! Anyway! Vossnell's life as a Gumm-Gumm begins!  
> I warned you guys it would be longer than the last one. This was painful to write for many reasons.  
> there may be spelling and capitalization errors because I was hurrying and my fingers were stumbling.  
> anyway!  
> As always, thank you for reading!  
> Also! Translations!  
> Guldinx-Adule - The Cursed Land (basically Penthesilean hell)  
> Harenevam - My Pride (feminine application) Or My daughter, depending on the context


	9. Of Guilt and Ghosts

Vossnell softly touched the scar running over her upper left eye, watching her fingers trace it in the reflection of her sword. She had been told that her Da had two scars running over his left eyes. Maybe that's why Zindrozaan had hesitated before she had killed him.

A sigh escaped her lips as her heavy heart sank even lower. She sheathed her sword, and stepped outside the tent she had been provided.

The bridge connecting her to her people was charred, but Ceomrance's kind voice crooned of penance and forgiveness, with all the false sweetness of the Sirens' song. She needed that bridge burned to cinders, so she couldn't be temped to back to a place that only promised her death.

She swallowed and shook her head slightly, before going to find Gunmar. She found him easily enough, and she distinctly felt her gaze sharpen into a glare as she caught sight of his feminine blue glow. She didn't even need to say anything for him to turn around, his eye immediately focusing on her.

“Yes, Vossnell?”

Her skin crawled at the way her name rolled off his tongue, but she steeled herself. “I have need of a small force to completely beat the Penthesilean threat.”

Her stomach flipped at her words and she subtly swallowed the bile that was rising in her throat. Gunmar's head tilted slightly, and she went on to explain a bit more.

“One of the Penthesilean tribes have allies in a small tribe in this area. If we take them out, the Penthesileans won't march to continue this war.”

Gunmar chuckled, and Vossnell fought the urge to grab him by the horns and snap his neck. She nearly gave into the urge with what he said next.

“Such viciousness! This war truly will end with you!” He laughed.

He looked back to her and definitely noticed her lower left eye twitching, but he ignored her indication of suppressed anger and nodded in confirmation of her request. “What numbers would you need?”

“Just a hundred. The tribe is made up of scholars and pacifists. They would make excellent scouts if they decided to join.” She managed to get out, even though she struggled not to grind out the words.

He hummed and turned away, waving a hand dismissively. “Very well then. You can lead this assault.”

Her heart twisted and she began to say something before closing her mouth with a click from her teeth. Gunmar looked over his shoulder and feigned understanding. “Unless, of course, your emotional wounds are still too fresh. I can give them your regards when I crush them...”

Vossnell's hands twitched and clenched by her sides. “No, no. I'll lead it.” She got out through gritted teeth, swallowing a growl.

He kept that maddening tone of false sympathy in his voice. “Are you sure you want to?”

There were many things she wanted. She wanted to tear that smug look off his face. She wanted to tear through his camp and burn it to the ground. She wanted to go back to her people and put faith in Cemrance's promise for forgiveness. But that path only held death for her, with Guldinx-Adule as her final destination.

She was too afraid to go see what it was like, and so she swallowed her rage and nodded her head. He grinned and turned away again, ordering something in a dialect she had never heard before.

A small battalion soon formed and her heart twisted painfully as the full scope what she was about to do hit her. If her people didn't already hate her, this would assure their scorn.

She sighed deeply and barely dipped her head in a mimicry of thanks, and turned, flicking her tail in such a way to tell the soldiers to follow her.

She felt their eyes weighing heavy on her shoulders as they marched and her tail lashed in irritation. Murmurs of unease floated from the small host at her back and she looked over her shoulder, glaring lightly. The whispering immediately ceased, and she huffed. If they had something to say to her, or about her, why not say it to her face?

She returned to looking at the scenery, before she unsheathed one of her blades to run maintenance on it before they reached the tribe's small village. Its balance was still as perfect as the day she had crafted it, and she ran a whetstone over its edges until it was the right mixture of sharp and strong. Then she repeated the process with the other, unsheathing the first as they reached the outskirts of the village.

She swallowed, pausing for a moment as her heart sank to the ground. Then she shook off her rightful inhibitions and marched through their gates.

“Search the village and round everyone up into the center.” She called over her shoulder.

She heard them split off to follow her order, and cries began to fill the night. She grit her teeth as she continued on, standing where their main road merged with their village center.

Soon enough, the village square was filled with its inhabitants, and guarded by its invaders. She took in a deep breath as she watched the villagers looked around fearfully, before they set eyes on her and muttered in disbelief.

Finally their chief stepped up, a tremor in his voice as he looked up at her. “What is the meaning of this?”

She rose a brow and lowered her body so that she was eye level with him. “Isn't obvious? This is a raid. And when we're finished raiding, we're going to burn your village to the ground.”

She wanted to retch. What had just come out of her mouth was beyond sickening. She wanted to take off this mask and throw it as far from her as possible, consequences be damned.

But it remained in place.

It remained in place because she was a thrice forsaken coward.

She let her emotions – her fear - rule her, and it had brought nothing but ruin. Nothing but, ruin, regret, and heartache.

So she continued to hide behind her cowardice as the chief gaped at her.

“Why are you with them? You are one of the noble Penthesileans!” He cried out, stepping closer and gripping the front trail of her tunic.

Her heart's new scars reopened and she pushed him away gently, but with enough force on one side to make him stumble. “Not any more.”

A young bull caught the chief stumble and she turned her gaze to the gathered populous. “But because of my former teachings, I have an offer for you.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw her squadron exchanges glances with each other, but she could hardly bring herself to care. Let them tell Gunmar. As far as she saw it, this was just bolstering his ranks a small bit.

“You can either join Gunmar and become a member of his horde, or you can die here tonight.” She called, standing up straight and crossing her arms.

The villagers looked around at each other, unsure expressions on their faces. She saw families look down at their children and then each other, holding on tightly. But silence reigned and the soldiers she was given command of were growing restless.

The young bull that had caught his chief looked at the elderly bull, and then up to her. “Can you assure that we will find a place in his armies if we do?”

“No. That much is up to you. I can present you, but then you are on your own.”

Fathomless strike her down.

She hated this. She hated this so much.

Somebody retaliate. Someone throw a spear tipped in poison. Kill her. Please kill her. Send her to the Fathomless to be judged and cast into Guldinx-Adule.

But nobody did anything. The night remained quiet as the village contemplated their choice.

Then the silence was broken as the young bull whispered something to the chief, resting a hand on his shoulder before stepping towards her as the chief tried to grab him, looking pained. He looked up at her and visibly swallowed under the weight of her stare.

“I will join Gunmar.” He said, making a gasp tear through the crowd.

Vossnell forced her face into a smirk and nodded her head at the young bull. “Wise choice.”

Then she lifted her gaze and looked around. “Anybody else?”

Silence reigned, and she forced a dismissive hum from her throat.

She turned her gaze back the chief and gave him a small, sharp smile. “One last question for you chief.”

He reluctantly tore his gaze from the bull that stepped to her side, and looked up at her with resignation in his eyes. “And what might that be?”

“Does your town have a forgery or a smithy?”

He looked startled and answered in such a manner. “Of course, it's part of our main trade with the Gemlokens, along with our scriptures and scrolls. Why do you ask?”

“Oh no particular reason.” She hummed, looking idly at her one of swords.

_'Kill me. Kill me. KillmekillmeKILLMEPLEASE'_ Her mind screamed.

But she looked around at the crowd. “Will no one else join us?” She called.

Silence answered her, and she smiled sharply as she turned her back on them. Like she turned her back on her people. Her beliefs. Herself.

“Well that's a shame!” She said generally, before looking at the soldiers. “Well? Do what you do best! Kill them and burn it down! But leave the smithy untouched!”

She was a coward. A damned coward.

She couldn't even face these trolls as she ordered their doom upon them.

The screams began and she almost flinched. Almost.

She walked up the main road, and turned down one of the connecting streets, looking for their forge. The screams faded as they were slaughtered, but shrill cries of children pierced the night and the shards of her heart broke even further.

Who was she kidding? Her chest always ached by now.

But she found their forge and ducked inside to take a look at the equipment that would be available to here. She immediately noticed that everything as smaller than she was used to. That would be a difficult thing to adjust to. She had better start trying while the village burned around them.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and she spared a glance at the bull that had followed her here. Then she went back to fiddling with the things in the forge.

“What is your name?” He asked suddenly.

She gave him a sideways look before she answered. “Vossnell.”

“I'm Terradurin.”

“I didn't ask.”

“You didn't have to. Besides, you'll need to know my name if I intend to help you heal.”

She stilled at his words. 'Help her heal'?

Something her snapped very, very, suddenly and she whirled around on him, growling viciously.

“I. Do not. Want. Your. Help.” She ground out.

Only she did. She wanted somebody,  _anybody_ , to help her in her suffering.

But a simple truth got in the way of her wants.

“I don't _deserve_ any help.” She sighed, turning away again.

“Don't be ridiculous. Everyone deserves help.”

She looked at him flatly. “Why do you even want to? I just ordered for your tribesmen to be murdered and your village razed to the ground.”

“Because you're hurting.” He said simply, cautiously stepping forward, reaching out a hand.

She shrank back from his extended hand, growling lowly in her throat, only to gasp as he touched her shoulder.

Her entire life seemed to flash before her eyes, replaying her great feats, and then getting stuck on her crimes. Over and over again. Over. And. Over. Never ending. Continuous recounts of her traumas. Eternal reminders of her pain.

Her  _ceomrzon_ 's pleading eyes.

Her felling of the Council.

The burning hatred in a grieving heiress' glare.

The pained wail of a Penthesilean who-

“ _DON'T TOUCH ME!_ ” She roared, swatting Terradurin away from her.

Her chest heaved painfully, and her vision was blurred. Her heart was breaking all over again, and she struggled to keep her sobs contained. She stubbornly blinked away the tears to see Terradurin staring up at her with tear tracks on his face.

Silence filled the space between then, broken only by the crackling of approaching flames and her ragged breathing.

“I. Do not. Deserve. Your. Help.” She said slowly, as if speaking to a young whelp.

She watched him shake his head slightly. “You deserve it more than anyone.”

She snarled and stormed past him and out of the forge, wiping away her tears quickly. She heard Terradurin scrambling after her, and she snarled again. Stubbornly refusing to set her eyes upon him again, she looked at the destruction of his village.

Maybe if she saw what she had ordered he would leave her alone.

The flames danced and crackled with wicked glee, and she saw a Gumm-Gumm soldier approaching her, giving her a quick run-down report.

She hummed and nodded. “Then we're done here. Get the others and then we can return to camp.”

She reached down and grabbed Terradurin's arm, tossing him at the soldier. “And keep an eye on him until he can be handed over to the scouts.”

She looked down at him and she bared her teeth as she saw the sympathetic look on his face. But something in his expression burned her. Something that Gunmar's sympathetic looks didn't have.

Genuineness. It was the real, unbridled force of his sympathy that burned her.

She desperately flung the thought far from her mind as they marched back, wails of abducted children tearing at the shreds of her very being. An instinct from deep within her was screaming at her to go comfort these crying children, but she knew better than to give in. She would cause them just as much distress, if not more, for she had been the one called for their parents' deaths.

So she swallowed her wishes and went to report her success, as well as make another appeal.

Her four eyes focused on a single point at the back of Gunmar's head in an attempt to burn a hole through him. Instead, it silently alerted him of her approach. So he turned to look at her and then past her, seeing the distant orange glow of the still burning village.

He gave a malicious grin and praised her, calling that slaughter a 'job well done'.

She wanted to fall to her knees and roar her rage to the hazy heavens above them, but, as always, she put aside her wishes as she ran though the benefits of the raid.

When she brought up the forge, he snorted. “What good is a forge to our cause?”

She rolled her eyes and snatched up a parlock spear from a nearby soldier. She estimated the point of balance for a pole arm of this length and balanced it on her finger.

It immediately dipped to the blade and she caught it before it could clatter to the ground. She shoved it back to the soldier and rose her brows to make an unimpressed expression.

“Maintenance. Sub-par weapons and armor make even the greatest force average at best.”

Gunmar hummed as he considered her point and she huffed as she waited for him to come to a decision. The adviser at his arm was trying his best to look down his nose at her when she towered over him by a generous amount.

Finally he spoke. “That is a fair point...” He rumbled, seeming to dislike that fact that his armies supplies were so shoddy.

“How long will this take exactly?” His adviser asked in a snippy tone.

“A day and a night. A night if I only do weapons.” She shrugged.

Gunmar looked at her a bit strangely. “That soon?”

“I'm a Master metalworker. I did not earn that title with laziness.” She scoffed.

 

And so Vossnell was given the day and night to work in the ruined village's forge, fixing the weaknesses of the armor and balancing the weapons properly. She strengthened blades and the plates of armor without making them any heavier. And on top of all of her work, she ran her whetstone over the edges until they were at the proper proportion of sharpness.

But all the while she worked, a vague sense of wrongness hovered over her. She should be weakening these and praying for someone to topple Gunmar and his march of terror. Instead, here she was, giving them the benefit of Penthesilean workmanship. Her stomach flipped and she swallowed her bile.

She was part of his march of terror now, whether she liked it or not.

She brushed off comments about her work and stared down anyone who tried to question where she had learned these skills. She had earned her place among the Gumm-Gumms, but she did not want to socialize with them. With  _him_ , least of all.

She could feel the weight of his stare, like he often felt her glare. Only she never turned to acknowledge him unless she had to. It was bad enough she always seemed to catch his blue glow from the corner of her eye. And Gunmar wasn't the only one she was constantly catching sight of.

Terradurin seemed to always have a reason for being in her field of vision as he earned his keep among their scouts. His earthy eyes always seemed to catch hers, and she always hastily looked away lest she get scalded by his emotions again.

And when he at least earn his keep among the entire Gumm-Gumm horde, he seemed to follow her around in a vague sort of sense. He was always in the area she was in, someway, somehow. Eventually she had enough, so she went on a quickly walk outside the perimeter of their camp.

“Stop following me.” She growled when she was far enough away from the camp.

There was a short beat of silence, and then twigs breaking as Terradurin stepped out into her sight.

“You are a very stubborn dam.”

“What part of 'I don't want your help', do you not understand?”

The bull shrugged and looked up at her pensively. “The want. Because you do want it. You just think that you deserve everything thrown your way, except for help. You think you don't deserve help.”

She snorted. “I don't. Any Penthesilean could tell you that.”

He hummed and shrugged slightly. “Well it's a good thing I'm not a Penthesilean then.”

She snarled and turned away from him, only for Terradurin to dart in front of her again, his hands spread out in front of him.

“Please Vossnell, allow me this chance. It's the only reason I didn't stay to die with my people.”

Guilt flooded through her and she growled lowly. Just what was he planning?

“I don't mean nor want to guilt trip you in this manner, but I don't know how else to get through to you!” He said quickly, looking at her pleadingly.

She stared down at him and then sighed deeply. She was morally obligated to entertain him it seemed.

“Fine. You can try and help me.” She relented, rubbing her face with a hand.

She began walking back to the camp, and he rushed to fall in step beside her. Her tail tip twitched as she glanced down at him, catching his stare. She huffed and looked away again.

“How did you do that before? In the forge?” She asked suddenly.

“I'm a heal... _was_ a healer in my village. I help my people with their ills and traumas, physically and mentally. That was just something I used to help me understand their ailments.” He explained.

“What Gunmar did to you and forced you to do was absolutely barbaric.” He growled lowly.

“He's a Gumm-Gumm. Of course it was barbaric.” She replied, even as she drifted, just for a moment, to thinking of how cunning that plot had been.

He knew that he couldn't win an all out war with her people, so he turned to methods that he seemed to deride just to assure his victory. Though why he had wanted the quick victory so desperately was beyond her.

She didn't want to ponder the machinations of a sadistic tyrant anyway.

“I know you wish to leave these recent events in the past, but you cannot move on if you don't talk about your feelings.”

“Later. It's barely been a year since they transpired. That's nothing for creatures of our longevity.” She grunted, before looking at him again. “And maybe we can talk about what losing your village did to you.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I've already come to terms with it. Around the time of the Challenge of Champions, my father received a vision of prophecy. A creature of destruction with daylight shackles would come and share her pain with us.”

Vossnell felt her jaw drop slightly as her brows furrowed. Then she closed her mouth and looked at he feet.

“'A creature of destruction', eh? That's fitting...” She sighed.

It had to refer to her. There was no other way. It was too on the nose.

Daylight shackles? Gunmar glowed the same deathly blue of stone claiming a troll's life.

Share her pain? That needed no explaining.

She growled lowly as she glared at the ground. She's had it with prophecies, destiny, and fate's design. The Fathomless hated her. They had to. They also seemed to possess a wicked sense of humor, with her suffering as the punchline.

She shook her head.

This mess was her fault. She shouldn't try to pin this on something as incorporeal and nonexistent as 'fate'.

But at the same time, it wasn't quite her fault. Gunmar had forced her hand for this to happen. Her teeth ground together, and she tensed as she felt something tap her tail.

She looked at Terradurrin, who only sighed at her.

“Stop overthinking.” Was all he said.

Vossnell huffed and moved to a fire that didn't have many soldiers around it. Her ears flicked as she heard him hastily change course to follow her and she nearly chuffed in amusement as she laid down on her side. She watched him trip over his hooves, and then her tail and she chuckled as he flipped his curly mane out of his face.

He offered her an unsure smile, and she used her tail to press him to her side. Terradurin tensed, and then relaxed against her side, offering her a more relaxed smile. She shook her head with another chuckle and accepted the meat that was passed their way.

They talked quietly, avoiding heavy topics, and laughing quietly over her explorations as a whelp, even though it made her heart's dull aching sharpen to piercing pain.

Then as the dawn begin to draw closer, she invited him to her tent, so he wouldn't have to share with the scouts that picked on him. They kept talking en route, and Vossnell's skin crawled as she felt someone's heavy stare.

Feminine blue appeared out of the corner of her eyes and her tail twitched erratically. But she ignored Gunmar's heavy presence in favor of listening to Terradurin's tale.

Afterall, he took everything from her. She was allowed to have this, wasn't she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually ahead of schedule on this one!  
> I wanted there to be more then this, but I'm also trying to pace this out some. Also I added some tags because of this chapter.  
> Thank you for reading!


	10. Indeterminate Leave (A/N)

Hey guys! I'm sorry for leaving you all hanging as long as I did. I should've put this up sooner than now, but I'll be taking an undetermined amount of time away from writing.

My personal life is dragging me down, and my muse has turned elsewhere. Things are tense and I'm worried about family and pets, and it's just a lot for me to handle.

I'll at least get the next chapter up when I get a certain part to go, but then it'll be radio silence from me. For this particular piece at least. I might put up some things for my Drabble series, but I really don't know. And what really sucks is that I love writing for The Undefeated and The Broken. I'm sad that I don't have the energy to write for it right now.

But on a lighter note, I would also like to thank you all for the support you have shown me. I love all the feedback and I elated that so many of you enjoy it as much as you do. I'm not sure if any of you reread what's already up, but I sure as hell reread all your wonderful comments when I'm feeling low.

So thank you all, and I hope to be back into the swing of things somewhat soon!


	11. Another Day, Another Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope is unkillable, but oh so fragile.

As time came to pass, Vossnell's pain faded to a dull ache. She was beginning to move on from the burned out shell of her old life, and was daring to think of a life she might build with Terradurin among the Gumm-Gumm ranks.

She shared her accounts of the events that lead her to this point in time. The pain she felt when she felled her first love. The horror at killing her own father, and the parents of her friends. The way her heart twisted whenever young whelps were taken and indoctrinated into Gunmar's army, either as soldiers or double agents.

And, of course, the pure, unadulterated hatred she held for Gunmar.

He never had anything to say, simply offering her a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on. He helped with the stress of becoming the Arms Master of the army, and getting dragged into strategy meets by Gunmar himself. She had to admit that he was very skilled with his hands, either messaging the stress out of her shoulders, or working different parts of her body.

But unfortunately, they were rarely able to steal moments with each other during the night, when they worked. They rarely even saw each other when their nights began in earnest, so busy were they.

So they stole their moments in the day, when everybody was resting and hiding from the sun.

Like they were doing now.

“Oh by the Fathomless!”

Terradurin looked up and shushed her.

“Vossnell! Hush! You'll wake someone up!” He hissed.

She bit her lip and her tail lashed. “That's not fair! You expect me to keep quiet when this feels so nice?”

Terradurin laughed lightly and pressed his face into her shoulder. “We attract enough attention during the night. Imagine the looks we'd get if they knew what we did during the day.”

She huffed as she recalled the looks thrown their way, and the glares from Gunmar as well. So she grumbled and put a hand over her mouth to muffle her sounds.

Though she smacked him with her tail in retaliation.

Terradurin only laughed lightly and returned to his administrations, making her arch her back as he grazed his tusks over her stomach on the way down.

She barely managed to contain her moans as he worked between her legs and she nearly bit into her hand when she had been finished. Terradurin looked far too pleased with himself as he bumped his head under her chin. She huffed at him, but nuzzled back all the same.

“Where did you find out about that anyway?” She asked as she slipped back into her pants.

He shrugged as he moved to accommodate her new position.

“I overheard two human women speaking about it one night when I was gathering herbs and healing stones.”

“Ah. How did you learn to do it with your tusks?” She snickered.

She watched his ears rapidly twitch with embarrassment and he coughed lightly, turning away. She laughed lightly and butted her head against his.

“I suspect you made a dam or two very happy before. Maybe a bull.”

“Oh hush.” He hissed, gently smacking her cheek.

She laughed and rested her chin on her arm as he leaned into her side. His hands found their way into her mane and she chuffed as she heard him tsk.

“Your mane is a mess. I thought Penthesileans took pride in their manes.”

“They do.” She hummed.

“Then why don't you take care of yours?”

She turned to look at him strangely, and he sighed.

“You're still a Penthesilean, no matter how much you hate yourself Vossnell.” He muttered, and she snorted as she turned away again.

“Whatever.”

Terradurin sighed deeply and moved his hands back to her mane.

“At least let me play with it some. It'll help you fall asleep.”

“Fine Durin. You can play with my mane.” She sighed.

It did feel nice to have someone's hands in her mane again, she thought. She hadn't had someone help her with it for nearly six years.

Her heart ached slightly since her father had been the last one to assist her with mane care, but she stubbornly pushed the thought away. Tainted memories had no place in her life right now. Not when she was just beginning to heal.

But Terradurin was right about it lulling her to sleep. The feeling of his fingers scratching at her scalp and gently undoing the knots she allowed to accumulate ever since she had left her people was very relaxing and made her eye lids grow heavy. The fur hanging in her face was drawn away from it and she lazily opened her eyes to look at the bull. He only smiled at her as he used a small bit of water to make sure it stayed back.

“This way your eyes can be seen.”

Her tail lashed as she remembered how Gunmar had arranged her mane to cover her eyes before sending her to kill the Council, but she smiled at her partner and purred lightly.

“Thanks.” She muttered, slurring slightly as sleep began to set in.

Terradurin chuckled slightly and nodded. “You can go to sleep Voss. I'll be here when you wake up.”

“'Course you will...” She mumbled before closing her eyes and falling asleep.

 

Dreams soon came, and dreams drifted into nightmares and she was running from something. Something she couldn't see clearly, but shame crawled across her shoulders.

The unseen entity was closing in, and dark churning water rushed in from nowhere. It rushed between her legs and she saw no way out. Dread filled her, and the water came crashing in like a wave, and she barely had the time hold her breath.

The silence was oppressing. Then the water stirred somewhere to her right.

The silence came again and there was no sound of pushed water as she frantically turned in the dark. Her jewels sang of nothing and her heartbeat was distant and far away, like it was no longer in her chest.

“ _That's because it isn't..._ ” A cruel voice hissed.

Pain blinded her senses in the next instant. A rushed gasp of pain brought water rushing in, choking her with oily fingers as the water drained. Terror filled her as she covered her mouth frantically, as if that would stop her from drowning.

Like she drowned with guilt at first.

Like she drowned in hatred, seething with it, and cutting her own, already scarred heart.

The strange sucking sound suddenly registered with her, and she snapped open her eyes. A vortex formed and turmoil was added to her fear. But above it all, an odd, high pitched sounds resonated in her mind. What was it? It sounded like...

Was she screaming?

Were others screaming?

She didn't have time to ponder it as she hit a blindingly white surface, and she swore that her very being nearly broke. She started coughing violently, clenching her throat and watching ink leave her mouth as she hacked.

It was almost forcing itself from her mouth, like it was _alive_. Finally, _finally_ , it left her airway in it's entirety and she took a deep rattling gasp of air, greedily gulping it down as she watched the ink slither away.

“ _You... are a traitor..._ ” The voice from before rasped.

Vossnell stared at the stains and trails under her as she contained her tears. She thought she had moved past these day terrors... She thought she could forget them as she threw herself into building a life far away from the burned out ruins of her old one.

She thought she could forget it all by throwing herself heart and soul into building a new life with Terradurin...

“ _You... thought... WRONG...!_ ” The voice thundered, and she finally rose her tear streaked face to look upon her tormentor.

Her molten gaze meet another set of fiery eyes set in a seething glare, and a soft gasp left her.

“Ritum, I...!” She began, before she was stuck and sent tumbling away.

“ _Do not speak!_ ” Ritum snarled, their incorporeal form shifting to the soft ashy gray they shared with her, a soft halo as dark as a storm cloud forming around their head.

“ _You are not my Champion... You are nobody's Champion..._ ” They continued, and she did not turn to face the truth.

“ _But... The one who bested you..._ ” Ritum's voice shifted to a deeper tone, rumbling though the air...

Vossnell whirled around with wide eyes just in time to see Ritum's fiery eyes turn to the feminine blue of sunlit death and forming a familiar, dearly hated silhouette, just before they pounced, maw gaping wide to swallow her whole and...!

 

Her head shot up, eyes wide and chest heaving. She didn't quite resister the heavy weight on her side and she jumped away, darting to the back of her tent.

Terradurin grunted as his back hit the ground, and he jolted up. His leaf green eyes were frantic as he looked around for the threat. But the threat was _her_ and she needed to get away before...!

A gentle hand touched her face and she flinched violently before she recognize Terradurin's soft voice.

“ …snell! Vossnell, it's alright! Well, not alright, but you're safe! You're safe, here with me.” His voice was even softer than it usually was, and tender, just for her.

“C'mon Voss...” He murmured as he turned her head to look at him.

She took in a sharp breath and suddenly pressed into him, curling around him and holding him close to her, dread gripping her.

“Am I a bad troll, Durin?” Her voice was much waterier than she wanted but...

She couldn't bring herself to care.

It hurt too much.

It hurt too much to not be true.

Even still, the saintly bull in her embrace disagreed.

“No, no you aren't Voss. You're a good troll who was backed into a corner and manipulated by a mad man.” He said with a fierce conviction, touching her cheek.

She blinked tears away and managed to focus on his green eyes, her breathing coming in uneven gaps and gulps as she tried to keep her composure.

“But I...!”

“Hush. I don't want to hear you reaching for ways to criminalize yourself. Your people have already done that effectively enough.” He said softly before leaning up and pressing his nose to hers.

She gasped softly and nearly jolted away before she ducked her head and pressed her face into his torso, hiding her tears. His hands immediately went into her mane and began brushing it with his fingers as she pressed her face closer into him.

“It's alright Voss, you can let it out...” Terradurin whispered.

And she did.

She muffled her sobs by gritting her teeth and her tears stained his vest. She thought her claws tore the back from how harshly she was gripping it. She would have to mend it if that was the case...

But eventually, her tears left her exhausted, resting her head in Terradurin's lap. He used her arm as a seat back and he scrapped his fingers across her scalp, humming some tune she wasn't familiar with.

Vossnell sighed heavily and mumbled. “I'm sorry...”

“For what?”

“I'm sorry you're dealing with the husk of the dam I used to be. I think you would have liked her better...”

“You're in a deep rut right now. I'm sure I can meet her eventually.” He said with a hint of a smile in his voice.

“I don't think anyone can meet her anymore.” She sighed, tears welling again.

“Why's that?”

“Cause that Vossnell was hopeful and idealistic, and kind to a fault. I can't be any of those things after what happened... That hurts. It hurts so much Durin. What would she say to me if she ever got to meet me?”

The bull hummed and scratched her mane again. “Well, if she's as kind as you make her to be, then I think she would be sad for you.”

Vossnell snorted at that. “Or horrified about what she would become.”

She heard Terradurin sigh heavily and then he scratched behind her ear, in that place that's hard to get because of her horns. “We'll work on your self image some time soon, I promise. But for now, we should sleep for tonight.”

She sighed and nodded against his stomach. “Yeah...”

She didn't bother to move, and Terradurin laughed lightly. “Let's at least find a more comfortable position for me Voss!”

“Oops. Sorry.”

The amber bull chuckled and moved himself so that her was laying on his side, and linked his arms around her neck after she curled around him.

“I think this position will stop your day-mares.”

“Whatever you say...” She chuckled weakly before reluctantly closing her eyes to drift to sleep.

She felt his chin rest on her head and she chuckled as she heard him blow hair away from his mouth. Then he was spitting it out and she laughed lightly and shifted her head.

“Thank you.”

She chuckled and pressed her nose to his chest.

“Good day...” She hummed with affection.

The rest of the day was uneventful, and when night fell, they both separated themselves from each other and stretched. She looked fondly at the drowsy bull, watching him idly scratched the back of his head.

A chuff left her throat and she butted her head against his back, throwing him off balance. Terradurin lazily fell over and scratched her jaw with a hum. Then she spotted the soft look on his face and laughed.

“Alright, get up. Time for work.” She hummed, using her tail to pushed him up.

“Alright, alright...”

A quick maintenance of their appearances and Terradurin's hand running through her mane one last time and they were ready to go.

Vossnell stalled for a moment before pressing her nose to his and stepping outside, holding the flap open for him before they left to see their duties.

 

A heavy sigh left her as she noted her whetstone was missing. Who could even get away with it? It was the side of some trolls' heads. To be sure, she double checked her work area before she growled lowly and conduced a more general area search.

When she found out who did this, she was going to tie them to a tree just before dawn.

While she lost herself in looking for her whetstone and muttering dark things, she passed a group of changelings. And since she was being thorough, and her pace was slow, she caught a fair bit of the conversation.

“Have you seen the way she looks at Gunmar? It gets me flustered even thinking about it!” A feminine one giggled.

“Are you kidding me? She despises him!” A second rebuked.

“Well, from what I know about these Gumm-Gumm brutes, there would be a great number falling all over themselves for her brand of hate. I would too honestly, if it meant she looked at me like that!”

“Yes, Vossnell is quite a catch...” A third sighed.

She stopped and blinked her eyes out of sync, disbelief rushing through her as she listened in. But the disbelief was burned away as her temper flared with the next words.

“Too bad that scout got to her first!”

She put a pause in her search and stepped around the corner to loom behind the changeling, making her fellow gossips' faces slacken with fear.

“And just what is going on here?” She hummed sternly, making the changeling under her squeak and jump around, backing away from her.

Vossnell crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the three changelings. They were all nervously glancing at each other and opening and closing their mouths as they thought of and discard explanations.

She sighed and rolled her eyes as she turned away. “Either way, idle hands and minds don't do anyone any favors. Go find something productive to busy yourselves.”

There was a squeak of confirmation as they darted away, nearly falling over themselves as they darted away. She let out a long sigh and continued in her search for her whetstone. Eventually she gave up on finding the damn thing, and went back to her station to find it back in its normal place.

Baffled beyond all belief, she picked it up and stared at it. There was no way she could have missed it. It had undoubtedly been missing from her work space, so how had it turn up? She hummed pensively as she glanced up, catching the blue glow of Gunmar.

Instinctively she averted her eyes, but she did a double take as she saw Terradurin trailing after the warlord. His green gaze lifted from the ground and he glanced her way. His eyes glinted with a worried light and he glanced meaningfully at the trees.

Then he went back to looking at the ground at the heel of Gunmar's feet. She watched them leave the camp and she went over her 'pending' list before setting it down. She made a sort of bee-line to the trees in the general direction that her lover and enemy both went, only to be intercepted by one of Gunmar's advisers.

“And why isn't the Arms Master at her post?” He hummed, and she rolled her eyes at his reaching disapproval.

“Because my pending list is empty. Go have a look for yourself.” She scoffed before brushing past him and heading into the trees.

And as soon as she was far enough into the under growth, she turned and quietly raced around trees and bushes until she came across the scents she was looking to track. Unease twisted her stomach as she could only distinguish two scents, and she wanted to race after them both, but she was forced to go slow to remain quiet.

Her unease went into worry as she came across signs of a small struggle, and her worry became sickening as she spotted a clearing. Stalking to the side, she watched Gunmar and Terradurin anxiously, never letting her gaze linger too long lest the weight of it attract attention.

Once she crept into a bush that could hide her bulk, she angled her ears towards them.

“ - and just how does a weakling like you garner such affection from a warrior like her?” Gunmar snarled.

Terradurin remained calm, looking pensively at the looming bull. “I find kindness to be quite effective.”

Gunmar snorted and summoned his blade, glaring viciously. “Kindness is a trivial thing. What use does it have?”

“It doesn't always have a use, that much is true. But that does not mean it is use _less_. Kindness is just what Vossnell needs after the torment you put her through.”

Vossnell flinched as Gunmar snarled again and backhanded her lover. She wanted to help. Her heart was screaming at her to intervene, but her body was frozen. Her tail wasn't even twitching. They only thing that moved was her braids caught in a nearly nonexistent breeze.

So she did nothing as Terradurin tumbled.

“And what could you know about that!?” He demanded, blue eye blazing.

“Everything Vossnell told me.” He responded, bracing himself on his arms.

“The remorse she felt fighting the drakes. The pain she felt a week later when she was forced to fell her betrothed. How her world had been torn asunder after she felled the Council and was effectively banished from her homeland.” With each word, she watched a fire spark in him.

A fire that has sparked because of – sparked _for_ – her. Watching him grow angry on her behalf in a way that she had never been able to engage in before.

A fire burned in his soft eyes, and he wore a snarl unsuited for his kind face. Healer's hands were twisted into claws, and his stance spoke of unbridled aggression.

And her heart fluttered. It was soaring in her chest and she felt a terrifyingly intense wave of affection for Terradurin crash over her.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she was too frozen to even try and wipe them away. And the smile she wanted to give was washed away as Gunmar growled again.

“All is fair in war.” He rumbled.

Terradurin ceased bristling, but the fire remained in his eyes, burning with outrage. “The full saying is 'All is fair in _Love and_ War'. But you don't love Vossnell. You don't even know her beyond her battle prowess and the fire she burns with.”

The smaller bull was stuck again, much harsher this time.

Terradurin groaned as he sat up, but still he glared.

“You strike me in a rage, but I'm right, aren't I? You know next to nothing about her!”

“SILENCE!” Gunmar roared, charging at the him as his blade disappeared in wisps of blue.

The brawl was brief and Gunmar emerged victorious. Because of course he did.

Terradurin did not cause injuries. He was meant to mend them. But even if he was a half decent fighter, no troll had been able to best Gunmar.

Her lover coughed and wheezed as he braced his arms against the ground. Shakily he stood up and looked to Gunmar.

“Why are you jealous? She hates you.”

Gunmar growled and grabbed his jaw, forcing his hooves off the ground and forcing his face towards the sky.

“Take a good look at the moonrise whelp, for it will be your last...” Gunmar growled as he summoned the Decimaar blade.

“If you think killing me will make her love you, so be it.” Terradurin sighed with a note of resignation.

Vossnell's world slowed as Gunmar's blade began to move forward. Her heart pounded in her ears and the constant dull ache in her chest became stabbing.

His soft green eyes meet her fiery gaze, and the emotion in them burned her.

A tear fell just as the blade pierced his chest.

Her soul screamed and her tears finally broke tension, spilling down her cheeks and blinding her. And through the blurriness, she watch Gunmar scoff and carelessly toss her second love away.

The sound of him crumbling may as well have been the twang of a Xicalgen hunting bow. Something was carving her heart out of her chest, but she was still frozen, unable to cry or lash out.

She watched Gunmar turn and leave, and when she no longer heard the sound of his retreat, the spell was broken.

Vossnell burst out of her hiding place and darted over to her lover's body, her hands shaking as they hovered over the rubble of his remains. Then she found his face, forever frozen in gentle acceptance, the flat stone stealing away the emotions and depth in his eyes in his last moments.

A sob tore out of her chest, clawing its way up her throat to sound in the clearing. A deep rattling gasp forced air back into her body and she buried her face in her hands as she cried.

Why was everything she cared about taken from her?

Her first _ceomrzon,_ her father, her friends, her people, and now Terradurin...

Why did the Fathomless hate her?

She could understand why they had abandoned her, but why must they forsake her to such a degree? Was she allowed nothing good in her life? Did she deserve to be left to carry the burden of her grief and guilt until they consumed her? Until she was a pitiful wretch begging to be put out of her misery?

A sob clawed from her throat as she lowered her hands. Through the tears she saw Terradurin's gray face, and she sniffled pitifully as she gently picked up the lump of stone that used to smile at her during the early mornings and dusks.

More tears fell as she pressed her forehead against what remained of his, letting out a strangled noise as she felt the last bit of his warmth fade away.

“I'm... so sorry Durin...” She rasped in a voice thicker than sap.

The time they had spent together was brief, but somehow it hurt more than when she had felled Quellzana.

“I... I guess that all your work was for-was for...!” A sob cut her off.

Ah.

That's why it hurt more.

Her old emotional wounds were coming back on top of this. And it was all compounding into something that cut her so deeply, she didn't think even Terradurin could save her this time.

' _Of course he can't. He's dead!_ ' her mind viciously reminded her.

Her sorrow came back full force and she folded in on herself, holding the remnant she picked up to her chest as she cried again. And through the tears and deafening grief, she heard someone speaking. Chanting really. What were they saying?

Oh.

That...

That was her chanting...

What was she saying? 'I'm sorry'?

Her ears suddenly cleared and she could hear her desperate apologies, spilling from her tongue like a fountain. The only pause between words were her painful sobs, accentuated by a stabbing pain in her chest and an ache in her throat as she gasped.

But a realization tore through her like wildfire, putting a pause on her mourning. She would have to get back to came before they came looking for her.

They couldn't see her like this.

She could not let the Gumm-Gumms see her in this state. She had worked too hard for the respect she had that made them leave her alone.

By the Fathomless, she had essentially committed  _genocide_ to make them leave her be!

If they saw her like this, she wouldn't even be able to get the solitude she needed to mourn quietly.

And so, though her heart protested painfully, she set Terradurin's face back amongst the rubble of him, watching dark spots appear on the pale stone as her tears fell onto him.

Slowly she stood up, repeatedly counting to ten in her head to calm herself. And then, with a longing look over her shoulder, she began on her way to camp.

She slipped in and returned to her station, unseen by anyone, and just in time as well, since Gunmar was en route.

As usual, her gaze sharpened into a glare, though she could feel that this one had an extra edge to it.

The tyrant opened his mouth, his eye faking remorse and sympathy as he always did with her. A cheap imitation of the genuineness Terradurin had.

He opened his mouth, and lies slithered out.

But, thankfully, she hardly needed to act devastated. She sat down heavily, and for the first time since joining the Gumm-Gumms, she looked at Gunmar with something other than hatred, letting him see her pain.

The sympathy in his eye grew a bit more believable, but something wicked flashed for a moment. Then it was gone, and he rested a hand on her shoulder - which she immediately wanted to tear off – telling her that she was relieved of her duties for the night.

She was thankful for small mercies at least. She wearily thanked him and went to her tent, once again not needing to fake the depressed look.

And as soon as the flap closed behind her, she fell into her nest of furs and cried quietly for yet another heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this will be my last chapter for a while, and so I hope that you all like this.  
> We finally get to the very beginning of Gunmar and Vossnell's relationship! And it is going to be a shitshow when I get back.  
> And I will come back because I love this story and all the characters so much. And I love and appreciate everyone that has stuck with me thus far.  
> I look forward to my return, and I can't wait to get back into the swing when things settle down for me.


	12. Opposites Attract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally, Vossnell's old life dies and she starts over. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I suggest listening to Genghis Khan reading this! I did that while writing this.  
> 2\. I have scheduling announcements at the end of this chapter!  
> That being said, enjoy!

Time blurred in her renewed and amplified grief.

She went through her forgework as if on autopilot, but no one was none the wiser. They wouldn't know fine craftsmanship if it bit them on the tail anyway.

She numbly sat through the strategy meets, letting her heavy gaze rest on Gunmar's shoulders as she stayed to the shadows. He was always aware of it, glancing over his shoulder at her while his advisers and generals debated. But he always looked away quickly, looking troubled for a split second before his face was hidden.

He was probably used to seeing fire in her eyes. Not the flat dead stare she now gave everything.

He should have thought about that before killing Terradurin.

Vossnell couldn't say how many weeks, months, maybe even years, passed since she had fallen into this slump. She couldn't even really see the dates she put on halfhearted sketches, adapted from her talent for drawing concepts for armor and weapons at Terradurin's behest.

But of course, it wasn't just her perception of time that had dulled.

A sudden jolt of pain lanced through her body from the tip of her tail, and she shot up, whirling around and snarling slightly.

Gunmar was in her tent, staring her down.

She forcibly yanked her tail out from under his foot and sighed heavily, glaring softly.

“What do you want?” She deadpanned.

He took a breath to say something, then released it as he sighed, looking away with an irritated snarl. He tried again, but growled in frustration as the words refused to leave him.

She scoffed and threw her hands up in exasperation and disgust.

“You don't even know what you want! So let me rephrase it!”

She leaned down slightly to get in his face, snarling as her anger finally began to rouse after so long.

“What do you want from me?” She growled lowly.

She was met with the same inconclusive response.

Something inside her snapped and she pushed him back, snarling evilly. “If you don't even know what you want, why are you so incessant on whatever goes on in your sick and twisted head!?”

“You!”

She stopped and looked at him warily.

“What?”

“I want you!” He snarled, seemingly embarrassed about having to admit it.

She stared at him, aghast, before turning away from him with a growl.

“Leave.”

“I will not!” The bull snarled as he grabbed her arm.

A snarl tore from her throat and she tore her limb from his grasp, whirling around to face him again.

“Leave before I make you leave!”

“I think that's quite impossible right now.” He said a bit smugly, opening the flap of her tent to show that sunlight had flood the spaces between the tents of their camp.

Vossnell stared at the scene beyond the cloth and turned her eyes to Gunmar, glaring viciously.

He had planned this! He knew that even she couldn't take on the entirety of the Gumm-Gumm horde by herself, especially if she had murdered their warlord by daylight.

But there was still a way to end this encounter...

No there wasn't.

For all her people may have believe that she betrayed them, she refused to betray their secrets to their enemy. And she shuddered to think what Gunmar might do if he knew that she was immune to daylight.

So she was stuck here.

With _him_.

The Fathomless really did hate her.

Either way, she growled in frustration and sat at her desk again, curling her tail around herself and away from the open where it could be stepped on again.

There was a mere moment of silence before Gunmar growled and grabbed her shoulder and pulled on it.

“Don't ignore me!” He growled, frustration even more evident.

She snarled and swung her tail across the ground, knocking his feet out from under him and sending him sprawling to his back.

“I will ignore you however long I please!” She snarled in returned, rising to her feet to loom over him and glare.

“And yet you have a very hard time doing so, don't you Vossnell?” He growled, having the same smug look when he had revealed that she was effectively trapped with him.

She could do nothing more than seethe, rage and hatred making her vision turn red. Her breathing became labored and her harsh exhales rumbled. Why was this making her so angry? He had stated a fact, but she simply knew that it was because it was impossible to ignore the one who had torn away her away from everything she had ever known.

Through her haze she heard him chuckle. “It seems that your fire has been reignited.”

Something in her snapped and she lunged at him with a snarl. They fell to the ground in a tussle, rendered unable to actually fight due to the size constraints and the threat of daylight.

A claw raked down the scar over his eye, and he swiped upward across hers in retaliation. They were definitely being loud enough to wake up the nearest tents, but she hardly cared. Her outrage was making her head pound and she could hardly see straight.

Many of the things in her tent got knocked over as they rolled and fought, snarling and clawing for purchase, and yet she could only focus on how it felt to have stone flesh scarring under her claws.

Oh by the Fathomless!It felt good to let out her rage out on something other than a piece of metal! And it was even better than her stress toy was the one who had caused all of this restlessness in her.

A special, vindictive part of her purred as she listened to the growls and snarls of pain coming from Gunmar's throat, and when she came down from her high, she would be disgusted with herself. But the future didn't matter right now.

What mattered was the sting and burn of traded blows.

What mattered was the traded pain and aggression.

What mattered was the _outlet_.

So their scrapping claws caught on clothes and their hemlines, pulling them off and casting them aside as their tussle took on a very different nature.

Pleasure began to intermingle with the pain, but she took the pain with just as much jubilation. Their coupling was just as violent as their fight had been before, but their sounds had become much quieter, panting as they dug their claws into each other.

Fangs were bared, and chalk line scratches crisscrossed over Gunmar's dark hide.

But time blurred as they picked up the pace again, claws tearing and heads butting until they were too exhausted to continue their activities. Their foreheads were pressed together and their pants were the only sound to fill her tent.

Then she let out a particularly deep huff and shoved Gunmar off of her, turning to lay on her side. There was a beat of silence, and then she jolted as felt his claw trace the bargain marks on her back, dragging long the curves of the moon cycle.

“What are these?” He asked softly.

“What they are is none of your concern.” She sighed irately. “...But they're marks from a bargain I made where I had bet my life.”

“Hmph. And what did you win?”

“The gems in my jewelry, and prestige.”

“What's so important about them?” He asked as he reached for the one connected to her right ear, before she growled at him in warning.

“They're Siren Jewels. They were what gave the Sirens near my former home their power. I'm assuming they regenerated new ones, or they're still connected to the ones I wear.”

He gave another hum and laid against her back, since the sun had yet to reach its zenith. Vossnell said nothing, looking over her shoulder at him and sighing before looking at the carnage of her tent.

Her thoughts from the past few hours came back and she grimaced. She was stuck with them whether she liked it or not.

Fathomless strike her down. What a pain.

 

When they woke from a short sleep, they dressed again, and Vossnell pointedly kept her gaze away from Gunmar as she righted the things in her tent. She heard him take in a breath to say something, before he seemed to think better of it. They could both tell that the sun had set by the temperature drop, and Gunmar knew that her patience for his presence was limited.

So, he wisely left as she organized her sketches.

Vossnell took great care to not let the tension leaking back into her body cause her to crinkle her parchments, though her shoulders slackened again as she came across a sketch that didn't belong to her. The lines were much too smooth for that, the attention to detail too great. And she had never been one for self portraits.

Her fingers hovered over the ink lines and she sighed heavily. Terradurin had been far too sweet. Far too kind. But still, she carefully added it to the pile of parchment, gently folding one of the blank corners so that she might find it later when she was feeling low.

The pile was then carefully placed in the middle of an old forge instruction tome she had. And with no more things to correct and everything back in order, there was no more stalling and she had to step out into the real world.

But nonetheless, she stalled in front of the flap of her tent, for a reason she couldn't even begin to fathom. Stubbornly, she slammed her walls down and stepped outside, ignoring the eyes on her.

She was en route to her forge when she spied Gunmar stalking to the sparring grounds, pale lines crisscrossing his back and arms. Shame and disgust filled her and she hastily turned her eyes away and picked up her pace.

She could hardly believe herself.

She had slept with her enemy.

Mated.

Coupled with.

None of those made it sound any better, so she decided to stop trying. They all meant the same thing. She had _sex_ with the one who had robbed her of everything.

A shudder ran through her and a fresh wave of hatred, both for herself and for him, crashed through her.

She just kept falling further and further from grace, didn't she?

With one final shudder, she pushed those thoughts to the far corners of her mind and began to work. But as the night wore on, a haze came over her, distracting her as her temperature rose, making delicate parts of her ache. And by the time she had finished her list, the sky lightening with the promise of dawn, she was incredibly frustrated.

A blue glow caught her eye, and she swore she could _scent_ the same sort of frustration on Gunmar. But she refused to fall to her vices again and go to him.

So on the way to her tent, she grabbed the largest, of age, Gumm-Gumm that passed her by the arm and dragged them with her, putting their claws on her hips when they reached her tent and asking them to spend the day with her. They eagerly jumped for the chance, growling with pleasure under her claws and becoming putty in her hands as she took control.

But the itch from before still remained.

The day lapsed, and she shooed them back to their own tent since the horde would begin marching again.

Her little 'problem' became worse as the night wore on. And some way, somehow, a member of their army turned up as a stone corpse.

But as soon as she saw their face, she felt resentment flash, her eyes finding Gunmar in a moment and glaring at him evilly. He barely acknowledged her heated stare, seeming far too pleased with himself to do so.

But eventually dawn began to break, and they put up large, communal tents to hide from the sun until they could continue their march. She was about to head into one, when her tail was pulled.

Vossnell whirled around, anger flashing, and flaring even more as she saw Gunmar retreating to his private tent. She growled, and stalked after him since he very clearly wanted her attention. And she was sick and tired of what happened when she refused to give it to him.

So she aggressively pushed the flap open and stepped inside, immediately getting in his face and growling. “What is it this time?”

“I think we both already know.” He rumbled, reaching out and gripping her arms.

She barely had time to react when he flipped her back and came to land on her stomach. She snarled and wrenched her limbs from his hands, and soon enough another fight broken out, that lead to the same place as it did before.

One thing she noted between brawling and coupling, was that he apparently wanted to slam her into a wall of some sort, but since they were in a tent in a field with a few sparse trees, he simply growled and dug his claws into her as he drew her close again. She, however, took great pleasure in grabbing his horns and bashing his head to the ground.

But when they were worn down from such incessant activity, and their sexual appetite was sated, the quiet came. He seemed quite curious about her scars, lightly tracing their outlines as he made small hums. And, oddly enough, she wasn't repulsed by his touch.

She laid on her side, content to let his claws wander, though she tensed slightly as his claws traced the scars that lead to her bargain marks, smoothly transitioning to the actual marks.

Gunmar's voice broke the silence and she nearly startled to her feet at how suddenly he had done so.

“They're silver. Did you know that?”

“...No, I didn't. I've never quite had the time to take a look for myself. I've been running around in a frenzy since the day I got them.” She replied, looking over her shoulder at him.

“And they go over the scars.” He hummed, not looking at her face as he mentioned them.

Her mood soured a bit, but not as much as she expected it to. Instead she simply sighed and shook her head. “Siren magic...”

“Indeed.”

Once he finished his study of her skin, Gunmar carefully, rested his head on her shoulder, clearly expecting her to retaliate. She only let out a deep sigh as her tail lashed, overall too exhausted to lash out against him. He hummed and a hand rested on her hip as he settled down to sleep the last few hours of sunlight away.

 

And so they fell into an almost daily routine, abiding by it for nearly three months. Sometimes their rendezvous were something that _almost_ mimicked a healthy relationship. But most of the time, they were violent and painful. Vossnell recalled one particular meeting that had started with her pushing Gunmar's horn down as she walked past him, and once he had followed her to her tent, she had caught him with a loosely altered bridle and teased him for almost the entire day. Of course she thoroughly payed for that particular encounter the very next day, but she enjoyed both encounters entirely too much to really care.

But tonight, she was waking in her own tent, alone, having retired early since she had felt nauseous. And she wished she could say it was the same as every other evening. But that would be lying. She had woken up ravenously hungry, just as the sun was dipping behind a distant mountain range.

She couldn't focus on anything other than the intense hunger, nearly doubled over by its intensity.

She needed to hunt. She needed to hunt NOW.

So she pushed aside the flaps of her tent, the rest of the horde just beginning to rouse, and she bolted into the forest, racing through the trees on all fours. A flash of dark brown caught her eye, and she swerved to chase it.

Vossnell didn't bother to identify it before she jumped on it, digging her claws in and catching it's throat in her jaws, crushing it's windpipe and relishing in the spurts of blood. And once she had caused the fatal damage, she quickly jumped away, landing carefully on her feet as she watched her prey fall and tumble and crash across the forest floor.

Once it stopped sliding, she darted over and hastily skinned it, trusting her practice in doing such to make it a fine job. And once all the fur was off, she tore into its flesh with overzealous vigor. And when all the meat was gone, she broke open the bones to pick out the marrow. And when she was finally done, all that remained of the creature was broken, hallowed out bones and the skin on which it sat.

She took the time to lick the blood and fat off her hands, and to wipe it all from her face before she grabbed the skin and picked it up, sending the bones scattering to the forest floor. Normally, she would take some parts of the skeleton back since she could do _something_ with the bones, but right now, she shrugged it off in favor of returning to camp.

The moon was bright in the sky when she came back, contrasting the fading yellows and oranges of sunset that came before it when she had left. She ignored stares and went back to her tent to hang the skin to dry.

As she went to do some things around the camp, she idly wondered why she had been so starved that evening. Such ravenous hunger was not characteristic of any Penthesilean. Well, aside from those who were ill or pregnant.

**_Wait._ **

Vossnell stopped in her tracks, nearly having a Gumm-Gumm collide with her back. Then she turned abruptly and took the most direct path to the healer's tent.

She hoped she was merely ailed with some sickness. It would be wrong on so many levels if the alternative proved to be true.

She scared the healer as she burst into his tent, huffing and snarling. Her four eyes all focused on him, and he had backed into a table, gripping it hard enough for the wood to groan under his grip.

“What do Gumm-Gumms use to test for pregnancies?” She snarled, stepping in, and ducking so her antlers didn't brush the top of the tent.

The healer blinked at her, in slight confusion before he registered her words and began going through her supplies. “That's a somewhat strange request... But I do have what you're looking for. Though I'm going to assume it's different from what your people do.”

“I'm going to assume so well.”

But after a few moments of him rummaging around, he produce a large circular stone and instructed her to set back. She warily did so, her eyes sharp and suspicious.

The healer rolled his eyes and sighed. “I know you have good reason to distrust the people you surround yourself with, but I am here to heal, not to wound.”

Vossnell still huffed, but let the hostility leak away as he rested the stone on her stomach and rolled it around in a slow, deliberate motions. She tilted her head, noting that it wasn't too different from the Penthesilean test, in all actuality.

Then he pulled the stone away and she sat up. “Well?”

The healer simply smiled at her and handed her the stone. “Break it open.”

She blinked and took it from him, pressing her thumb into the stone and startling as it broke to reveal glowing crystals inside. He caught one half and hummed as he watched the light.

Then he turned to her and smiled sadly. “Congratulations. I don't think I need to ask who the father is.”

Vossnell tensed and could only stare at him, hardly believing what she was hearing. She was actually...

She had wanted children. It was something every Penthesilean wanted to some degree. Even those who had found out that they didn't have any sexual attraction. Children were a rare and wonderful thing to have, was what she had heard from older Penthesileans. And she had believed that when she had completed her rite, always catching the six new whelps run around and play in the village. She had even dared to imagine what children with Quellzana, and then Terradurin, would have looked like...

And now the reality of motherhood was finally realized for her. With her... was Gunmar even her enemy anymore? With this strange relationship they've developed, what was he to her? He was obviously the father to her child, but what was he to _her_? Friend or foe? Nemesis or lover?

A sudden flash of texture caught her eye, and she flinched when it touched her skin. “I know this must be hard for you, but you need to tell Lord Gunmar. He does not take kindly to secrets, especially if it's one of this magnitude.”

Vossnell snarled at the healer, snatching the cloth from his hand and wiping her face. “You say that like I don't realize it!”

That made this dilemma even more terrifying. Did the warmonger even want an heir?

She irately scoffed at that question. He was obviously looking for a successor. She had seen the other trolls that left his tent, done up with chalk line scratches, had stamped down the small flame of outrage that sparked.

But did _she_ want this child?

Did she want a child with the troll who had forced her to turn on her people and kill her loved ones? Did she want a child with him after he had brought her so much pain?

She turned her eyes to the healer and opened her mouth to ask him another question.

“Whatever sparked that misery and conflict in your eyes, I refuse to go along with it.” He said resolutely and she sighed heavily.

She wouldn't be able to bare losing the pregnancy anyway. Dams and daulls were said to have died of shock and a broken heart after a miscarriage. And not even the Fathomless knew what happened to a Penthesilean who had knowingly fabricated a miscarriage.

So she sighed once again.

“Thank you for your help.” She said, getting up and leaving the tent.

She loosely folded her arms, holding herself as she began on her path to Gunmar's tent, carefully avoiding other Gumm-Gumms. And she stalled but for a moment outside his tent before she swallowed her inhibitions and stepped inside.

Gunmar looked up from reports and other such things, tilting his head at her. “The night is still young Vossnell.”

First, her lower left eyes twitched. He was trying to joke with her. Then she rolled her eyes at his words, fixing him with a flat stare when she finished. “That's not what I'm here about.”

“Then it must be important! Since you would never come to me for the simple pleasure of my company.”

She growled and narrowed her eyes at him. “Exactly. So take this seriously, I'm trying to tell you something.”

“Like what?” He chuckled, standing up. “That you found a new lover?”

She snarled, leaning down to his face, her voice dripping with venom. “I. _Wish._ I could.”

That forced him to be serious, baring his teeth slightly and meeting her glare evenly. “Then what is it?”

She sighed, and straightened up, taking a step around him and further into his tent. And meanwhile, Gunmar turned to warily keep her in his sights.

Good. He remembered what she was capable of.

Then she sighed and crossed her arms, looking at him, unease filling her despite her resolve. Why was she so antsy?

 _'Just get it over with, Vossnell.'_ She scolded herself.

She sucked in a final breath and spoke. “I am with child. And I think we both know whose.”

He stared at her, and suddenly took a step forward, making her flinch back, a hand immediately moving to cover her lower stomach as she growled. He slowed and carefully approached her then, his hand hovered over where she was holding hers, but clearly knew better than to touch her.

Then he drew back and looked her in the face. “We'll be sharing a living space from now on.”

“What!? No!” She hissed.

“Are your kind's pregnancies delicate in any way?” He asked forcefully.

She stopped in her tracks, staring slightly aghast, not quite understanding the question.

Were other breeds of trolls' _not_?

But she huffed slowly and loosely hugged her waist. “...Extremely.”

“Then you will stay with me until you are no longer carrying the whelp.”

She silently seethed, growling low in her throat. She wanted to say that she didn't need his protection, but after what she had admitted about her people, she would be lying in his eye.

So she relented with a growled 'Fine'.

“But how do I know you'll want anything to do with the whelp when they're born?”

She tried not to startled away from the hand that had grabbed her chin and pulled her down to be face to face with Gunmar, who looked very irritated with her.

“Because I wanted you.” He growled, and she huffed, pulling away from him.

“And look at all the pain that brought!” She hissed, before stepping around him again. “I'll join you when we next move camp.” She huffed before leaving, hearing him grumble behind her.

This was it.

This was her life now, whether she liked it or not.

She really had turn her back on her people, hadn't she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so i'm going to be upping my failed weekly schedule, to a monthly schedule, and see if I can stick to that. So I will try to post with in the first week of each month. or at least once per month. So there's that!  
> And another thing is that I am trying to get back into my other multi-chapter fic, Broken Bridges! And I have a small request to make, if anyone is up to it. A couple of you have already done this, but I'm really eager to interact with you guys!  
> So I'm asking you guys to make a Penthesilean that will be featured in a future chapter of Broken Bridges! I'd be more than happy to answer any questions you might have and help you!  
> Anyway, there's my announcement sorta thing. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
> Also, you guys have no idea how tempted I was to make a 'Fifty Shades of' joke for the chapter title


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